SODOMY  AND  LATER  YEA 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


SONGS 

OF 

EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 


SONGS 


OF 


BY 

MRS.  M.  J.  E.  CRAWFORD. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

PUBLISHED  FOR  THE  AUTHOR  BY 

OLAXTOX,  REMSEN  &  HAFFELFINGER, 

819  &  821  MARKET  STREET. 
1872. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1871,  by 

M.  J.  E.  CRAWFORD, 
in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 

STEREOTYPED  BY  J.  FAQ  AN  If  SON,  PHILADELPHIA. 


PTMNTEn    BY    MOORE    BROTHKHP, 

Fnuiklin  BtiildinprB,  Sixth  St.,  below  Arch, 

1'hilixltlpliia. 


-ps. 


PAGS 

FATHER  TIME  AND  HIS  CHILDREN        ....  9 

THE  SPIRIT-VOICE 18 

A  SUNSET  THOUGHT  OF  HEAVEN 20 

THE  CHILD'S  PRAYER 21 

THE  SPRING-TIME 21 

THE  CHILD'S  LAST  SMILE 23 

OH,  NAME  HER  NOT  I 24 

THE  GATHERED  ROSE 25 

THOUGHTS  OF  AGE 27 

To  MY  FRIENDS .       .29 

THE  SUMMER  WIND 30 

MALINA 33 

THE  FIRST  Kiss 34 

A  CHILD'S  THOUGHTS .  35 

SUMMER  TWILIGHT 37 

HEREAFTER 38 

Lois 39 

SUNSET  AND  TWILIGHT 40 

HE  SPARETH  ME 42 

LEGEND  OF  THE  WELL 43 

A  MOTHER  TO  HER  DYING  CHILD        ....  45 

THE  SPIRIT'S  REST 47 

'  LET  BYGONES  BE  BYGONES,' 48 

1  *  v 


759461 


vi  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

THE  WATCHERS 49 

THE  MIXER'S  GRAVE       .......       51 

SWEET  FRIEND 53 

OCR  FATHER 54 

THE  PLEASANT  THEME 55 

EVENING 57 

JUNE 58 

THE  POET 59 

DYING  ROSES       . 61 

SORROW  UNASSCAGED 62 

To  JENNY  Lrsn .        .        .63 

\Vi.  >.VID  FAREWELL        .        .        .  .        .        .        65 

THE  PET  BIRD 67 

THE  Music  OF  Tin:  WATERS 69 

OLD  Soxes -  .        .        .70 

MARCH  WINDS 71 

Lrrn.i.  Ait   IUK 72 

T£E  DEAD 71 

A    BRIDAL  SOXG 75 

A  TWILIGHT  HOUR 76 

WHY  i>o  WE  LOVE? 77 

THE  YOUNGEST  BROTHER 7'.* 

I  HAVE  FOUND  FLOWERS 82 

BRIGHT  WINTER  DAYS 83 

.loY  IN  HEAVEN 84 

KM  MALM  THE  DEAD 85 

JESUS 8<» 

(loxE 87 

THY  BROTHER  SHALL  ARISE  AGAIN        .       .       .       .89 

GEORGE'S  GRAVE 90 

OUR  VALLEY 91 

A  THOUGHT  OF  DEATH 93 

ADVICE  TO  A  POET 95 

LAY  NOT  THY  HARP  ASIDF, 97 

To  THE  MOURNING  DOVE  .    9« 


CONTENTS.  Vll 

PAGE 

DREAMS  OF  THE  DEAD 100 

THE  AUTUMN  TIME         . 101 

ARE  You  YET  IN  THE  LAND  OF  THE  LIVING?       .       .  104 

MARTHA 105 

LITTLE  JANE 106 

THE  RESURRECTION  OF  CHRIST 107 

COMFORT  IN  SORROW 109 

To  MY  SISTER 110 

A  SPRING  MELODY Ill 

To  ANNIE 113 

THE  PATCHWORK  QUILT 114 

NEVA  .       .       .       .,    « 116 

MARY  LEA 117 

ANNIE'S  MINIATURE 119 

THE  RAINBOW  AT  NIGHT 121 

LILIAS  AND  I 122 

To  MY  BEREAVED  BROTHER 124 

AMONG  STRANGERS 126 

CHRISTMAS  MORNING 128 

THE  MORNING  BREEZE 129 

THE  NAMELESS  GRAVE 131 

MOTHER 132 

MY  EARLY  HOME 134 

HALF-WAY  HOME    .       .       .       .       .       .        .       .       136 

To  LITTLE  ETTIE'S  PARENTS 138 

WASTED  HOURS 140 

To  ONE  WHO  is  'HALTING  BETWEEN  Two  OPINIONS.'    141 
'HE  GTVETH  His  BELOVED  SLEEP.'     ....       143 

THOUGHTS 144 

'  SHE  is  NOT  DEAD,  BUT  SLEEPETH  '    .       .       .       .       146 
'  As  THY  DAY,  so  SHALL  THY  STRENGTH  BE.'        .       .148 

MY  SOLDIER  LOVE 149 

THE  HEART'S  QUESTION 150 

ELEGIAC  LINES 152 

AFTER  AWHILE    .  .  153 


VU1  CONTEXTS. 

PAOB 

HIDDEN  AWAY 155 

JENNIE 157 

A  TRIBUTE 158 

STOLEN  TREASURES 160 

MARY  ANNE 162 

THOUGHTS 163 

EARTH'S  ANGELS 165 

MEMENTOS 166 

DAY  AFTER  DAY 167 

SHADOWS  ; 169 

AN  APRIL  SONG 171 

MY  WORK 173 

To  MY  BROTHER,  J.  P.  KNOX 174 

ROSALINE    .  176 


SONGS 

OF 

EABLY  AND  LATER  YEAKS. 

FATHER  TIME  AND  HIS  CHILDREN. 

AS  Time  passed  on  his  ceaseless  course, 
His  children  one  by  one 
To  greet  him  came.     And  first  appeared, 
With  stately  step  and  flowing  beard, 
His  fearless  first-born  son. 

A  snowy  mantle  was  round  him  thrown, 

His  brow  was  bare  and  bold  ; 
So  proud  was  he  that  he  cared  for  none ; 
He  spoke  in  a  hoarse  and  hurried  tone, 

And  his  breath  was  sharp  and  cold. 


10        SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEAitS. 

Few  were  the  words  that  passed  between 

Old  Time  and  his  sullen  child. 
When  the  second  came  with  sadder  mien, 
In  his  dull  cold  face  no  pride  was  seen, 

And  he  seldom,  if  ever,  smiled. 

A  coat  of  glittering  mail  he  wore, 

Which  rattled  with  every  breeze ; 
A  crystal  staff  in  his  hand  he  bore, 
And  tears  anon  from  his  eyes  would  pour, 

On  his  icy  cheeks  to  freeze. 

A  hurried  greeting,  a  cold  farewell, 

And  Time  on  his  journey  passed, 
When  he  heard  a  sound  through  the  woodland  swell, 
And  the  voice  of  March  on  his  quick  ear  fell, 

Like  the  rush  of  a  stormy  blast. 

A  merry,  merry  lad  is  March,/ 

With  his  loud  and  cheerful  song ; 
A  ragged  cloak  o'er  his  shoulders  cast, 
And  half  unclothed  his  rugged  breast, 
And  little  he  cares  in  his  song  to  rest, 

For  his  lungs  are  stout  and  strong. 

Rudely  he  greeted  his  aged  sire, 
Though  his  heart  was  kind  enough  ; 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.        11 

And  the  old  man  smothered  his  kindling  ire, 
And  listened  a  while  by  a  cheerful  fire, 
While  his  son  struck  wildly  his  tuneless  lyre 
To  numbers  wild  and  rough. 

/^.pril  came  next  like  a  laughing  child ; 

And  her  father's  heart  was  stirred 
As  she  gathered  flowers  that  were  sweet  and  wild, 
And  o'er  them  by  turns  she  wept  and  smiled, 
While  her  happy  voice  the  hours  beguiled, 

Like  the  song  of  a  singing-bird. 

Yet  on  he  went,  for  the  gentle  May/ 

Was  waiting  his  smile  to  meet ; 
She  scattered  blossoms  about  his  way, 
And  flung  w.herever  he  chose  to  stray, 
At  early  morn  or  close  of  day, 

Fresh  dews  to  cool  his  feet. 

A  happy,  happy  time  he  had, 

While  his  lovely  child  was  nigh  : 
She  was  never  weary  and  never  sad, 
And  her  merry  voice  made  his  old  heart  glad, 

As  the  pleasant  hours  flew  by. 

But  he  might  not  linger,  for  blue-eyed  June 
Advanced  with  a  smiling  face  ; 


12        SOXGS  OF  EARL Y  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

Her  form  was  light,  and  a  brilliant  zone 
Of  gorgeous  hues  was  round  her  thrown, 
And  she  flew  with  a  grace  which  is  all  her  own 
To  her  father's  fond  embrace. 

She  led  him  away  over  field  and  hill, 

With  lightsome  step  and  free ; 
His  bosom  with  fragrant  flowers  did  fill, 
And  early  fruits ;  and  her  step  was  still 
By  field  and  forest  and  dancing  rill, 
And  Time  for  a  while  had  a  right  good  will 

To  be  as  gay  as  she. 

But  she  passed  away  with  her  beauties  rare, 

And  her  sister,  bright  July,/' 
With  fruit-stained  lips,  and  golden  hair, 
And  loosened  robe  and  bosom  bare, 
Approached  her  sire  with  bustling  air, 

For  the  harvest-time  was  nigh : 

And  she  was  a  gay,  industrious  maid, 

With  little  time  to  waste ; 
But  the  noon-day  rest  in  the  cooling  shade 
She  loved  full  well ;  or  by  bright  cascade 
To  bathe  her  limbs ;  or  in  forest  glade 

The  ripe  wild  fruits  to  taste. 

'The  flowers  which  June  had  kindly  nursed 
She  scattered  in  proud  disdain  ; 


SOArGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.         13 

But  a  merry  laugh  from  her  red  lips  burst 

When  the  bright  scythes  swung,  and  she  bound  the 

first 
Ripe  sheaves  of  the  yellow  grain. 

Old  Time  loved  dearly  his  bright-eyed  child, 

Though  rest  she  gave  him  not, 
He  must  follow  her  steps  wherever  she  toiled, 
Till  his  sluggish  veins  with  fever  boiled, 

For  the  sun  was  fierce  and  hot. 

But  the  merry  harvest-time  was  gone, 

And  Time,  with  weary  sigh 
And  listless  step,  moved  slowly  on, 
While  August  came  o'er  the  dew-gemmed  lawn 

With  half-shut,  drowsy  eye. 

With  languid  step  did  Augustycome 

And  look  of  weariness ; 
Her  voice  was  soft  as  the  wild  bee's  hum, 
And  thin,  as  if  woven  in  spider's  loom, 

Was  her  light,  unbelted  dress. 

Some  flowers  of  bright  and  varied  hue 

Among  her  hair  she  wove, 
Scarlet,  and  yellow,  and  brilliant  blue, 
And  often  she  bathed  them  in  pearly  dew, 

In  meadow,  field,  and  grove. 
2 


14      soyas  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YRARS. 

But  the  bright  flowers  drooped  on  her  sultry  brow, 

And  her  sunny  face  grew  wan, 
For  she  heard  a  voice  that  whispered  low 
And  soft,  as  the  streamlet's  gentle  flow, 
"  Your  flowers  must  die  in  their  summer  glow, 

For  September  is  coining  on." 

She  passed,  and  her  sunburnt  brother  sprung 

To  his  father's  side  with  glee  ; 
His  clear,  shrill  voice  through  the  valleys  rung, 
And  the  notes  that  fell  from  his  silvery  tongue 
Were  gladly  welcomed  by  old  and  young, 

For  a  cheerful  youth  was  he. 

A  heavy  load  did  September  bear, 
Though  his  step  was  firm  and  light ; 

The  purple  plum,  the  yellow  pear, 

The  ripe,  red  peach  with  its  fragrance  rare ; 

And  he  scattered  his  treasures  here  and  there 
Like  the  gifts  of  a  fairy  sprite. 

No  wonder  if  Father  Time  should  prize 

His  generous-hearted  boy ; 
But  Time  (as  the  proverb  hath  it)  flies, 
And  with  hurried  step  he  passed,  and  sighs 
Like  mortals  heave  when  a  bright  hope  dies, 

Or  they  miss  some  promised  joy. 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AXD  LATER  YEARS.         15 

Next  came  October,  richly  clad 

In  robes  of  gorgeous  dye ; 
A  regal  crown  adorned  his  head 
Of  purple  grapes ;  and  round  him  spread 
"Were  the  ripened  fruits  the  trees  had  shed, 

For  the  vintage-time  was  nigh. 

He  looked  about  as  if  to  see. 

What  work  was  left  to  do; 
He  chased  away  the  humming  bee, 
And  the  summer  bird,  and  merrily 
Shook  down  the  ripe  nuts  from  the  tree, 

Nor  seemed  his  work  to  rue. 


But  yet  his  work  was  hardly  done, 
When  November  cried  in  wrath, 

"  You  wear  a  robe,  you  have  need  of  none ; 

I  have  shivered  for  years  for  lack  of  one, 

As,  year  by  year,  my  course  I  've  run 
Along  this  dreary  path." 

He  was  indeed  a  shivering  wight, 

Nor  robe,  nor  cloak  he  wore, 
He  grasped  October's  mantle  bright, 
Tore  it  apart  with  ruthless  might, 
And  scattered  it  in  sport  or  spite 

His  father's  face  before. 


16        SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

The  squirrel  he  chased  to  its  winter  rest 

Within  the  hollow  tree, 
And  the  serpent  crawled  to  his  earthy  nest, 
For  the  wind  blew  cold  from  the  bleak  north-west, 

And  averse  to  cold  is  he. 


And  Time  went  on  with  a  quicker  pace, 

But  a  frown  upon  his  brow ; 
Oh,  how  could  he  wear  a  smiling  face, 
When  a  bloomless  world  was  his  dwelling-place, 
For  he  sought  in  vain  to  find  a  trace 

Of  his  favorite  beauties  now. 

December  met  him  with  noisy  shout, 
Like  a  school-boy's  heedless  mirth, 

And  he  rung  his  merry  welcome  out : 

"  I  am  glad  to  find  you  so  hale  and  stout; 

But  what,  old  man,  have  you  been  about 
As  you  journeyed  around  the  earth  ?  " 

Said  Time :  "  I  have  seen  my  children  all, 

From  the  eldest  down  to  thee ; 
I  have  seen  flowers  bloom  at  the  gentle  call 
Of  one,  by  another's  breath  to  fall, 
And  the  bridal  robe,  and  the  mourning  pall 

Are  neither  new  to  me. 


SOXGS  OF  KARJA'  AND  LATER  YE  All  S-        17 

The  youngest  one  of  all  art  thou : 

A  jolly  boy  thou  art ; 
But  thy  eldest  brother's  stormy  brow 
Is  thine,  and  his  robe  of  frost  and  snow. 
I  would  call  you  twins  if  it  were  not  so, 

That  you  're  numbered  so  far  apart." 

December  laughed,  and  his  white  locks  shook 

As  he  rushed  to  his  brother's  side  ; 
The  stern  one  little  sport  could  brook, 
But  him  by  the  hand  he  kindly  took, 
And  his  chilly  fage  wore  a  gentler  look 

As  December  hoarsely  cried  : 

"  We  are  much  alike,  our  father  said, 

In  truth,  I  believe  it  too, 
For  the  selfsame  covering  decks  our  bed, 
So  here  on  your  breast  I  '11  lean  my  head, 
And  we  will  be  brothers  linked  and  wed 

In  bonds  of  friendship  true." 

And  so  his  frigid  form  he  flung 

On  his  brother's  icy  breast, 
And  a  wild  and  fitful  song  he  sung, 
Whose  echoes  from  hill  and  valley  rung 

As  he  sank  to  his  quiet  rest. 
2  *  T? 


THE  SPIRIT- VOICE. 

is  a  low  voice  ever  whispering 
JL      Something,    to    which    my   spirit   still    must 

hearken  ; 

When  sadness  o'er  me  throws  her  gloomy  wing, 
And    youth's  bright  visions  round  me  fade  and 

darken ; 
Softly  it  says,  "  Thy  hopes  of  happiness 

Were   based   on  earth,  'tis   therefore  that  they 

perish ; 

But,  lo !  there  is  a  hope  of  perfect  bliss  — 
This  hope  alone  't  is  right  for  thee  to  cherish." 

When  with  the  gay  in  scenes  of  mirthfulness 

I've  joined,  I've  heard  that  voice,  half  stifled, 

sighing : 
"  What  consolation  wilt  thou  draw  from  this, 

What  calm  delight,  what  peace  when  thou  art 
dying  ?  " 

18 


SOA'GS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.        19 

And  sudden  tears  have  risen  to  my  eyes, 
And  sadly  from  my  lips  the  smile  has  faded, 

And  some,  perchance,  have  heard  a  low-breathed  sigh, 
And  wondered  what  my  happiness  had  shaded. 

And  oft  when  sleep  my  weary  eyes  has  fled, 

And  stars  from  their  far  azure  thrones  are  smiling, 
And  sweet  thoughts  of  the  absent  and  the  dead 

Corne  o'er  my  heart  its  weariness  beguiling ; 
With  sweet  and  tender  force  that  voice  recalls 

The  last  fond  wish,  of  one  long  since  departed, 
The  dearest  wish  that  heart  could  offer,  all 

The  happiness  which  waits  the  lowly-hearted. 

Where'er  I  am,  those  soft,  low  tones  I  hear, 

For  ever  to  my  saddened  spirit  telling: 
"  Thou  canst  not  rest  till  thou  hast  cast  thy  care 

On  Him  who  hath  in  humble  hearts  a  dwelling." 
This  is  the  Spirit- Voice,  this  thought  alone 

Has  power  to  turn  each  earth-born  joy  to  sadness  ; 
And  till  the  soul  its  gentle  teachings  own, 

It  ever  lacks  the  one  pure  fount  of  gladness. 


A  SUNSET  THOUGHT  OF  HEAVEN. 

IF  brighter  than  that  gorgeous  cloud, 
The  golden  gates  of  Heaven  shine, 
Scarce  could  I  shrink  from  Death's  pale  shroud, 

Or  dread  his  cold  lips  pressed  to  mine, 
So  I  might  soar  away,  to  see 
The  home  of  rest  prepared  for  me. 

Far  sweeter  than  the  richest  notes 
On  earth  to  cheer  our  spirits  given, 

Must  be  the  ceaseless  hymn  which  floats 
From  angels'  golden  harps  in  heaven ; 

And  who  would  wish  to  linger  long 

From  that  blest  land  of  holy  song  ? 

Far  stronger  than  the  dearest  ties 

Which  hold  our  yearning  hearts  below, 

Is  that  pure  love  which  bids  us  rise, 
The  perfect  will  of  God  to  know  ; 

And  can  the  soul  contented  rest 

Away  from  him  who  loves  us  best  ? 


THE  CHILD'S  PRAYER. 

OFTEN  and  often  through  the  day, 
A  little  one  murmurs,  "  I  need  to  pray ; " 
And  folding  his  hands  by  his  mother's  knee, 
With  reverent  look,  says,  "  You  talk  me," 
For  though  he  knows  of  a  "  need  "  to  pray, 
He  cannot  remember  what  to  say. 
The  mother  teaches  her  childhood's  prayer 
To  the  little  one  kneeling  so  meekly  there, 
And  prays  in  her  heart  that  his  feet  may  be 
Kept  from  the  paths  of  iniquity ; 
That,  if  spared  to  tread  this  world's  rough  way, 
He  may  not  forget  his  need  to  pray. 


THE  SPRING-TIME. 

HOW  time  wears  on !  the  spring  is  here 
With  gentle  winds  and  rainbow  showers, 
The  genius  of  the  early  year 

Moves  gaily  through  earth's  faded  bowers, 

21 


22        SOA'GS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

And  where  she  breathes  or  treads,  appear 
Unfolding  leavss  and  budding  flowers. 

The  vine  puts  forth  the  tender  leaf, 

The  hyacinth  its  fragrant  bells, 
And  flowers  whose  life  is  bright  as  brief, 

Look  up  from  sunny  banks  and  dells ; 
The  wind-flower's  fragile  buds  unfold, 

The  violet  from  the  moss  peeps  up, 
While  'mongst  the  grass,  like  drops  of  gold, 

Gleams  out  the  shining  buttercup. 

How  beautiful  the  spring-time  is  ? 

No  shadow  on  earth's  beauty  lies ; 
But,  ah!  how  few  the  hearts  which  miss, 

No  smiling  lips,  no  loving  eyes 
Whose  presence  was  a  source  of  bliss, 

When  last  spring  sunshine  lit  the  skies  ! 

We  do  not  miss  a  single  bird 

Which  gladdened  us  with  music  then, 

Their  joyous  caroling  is  heard 

In  orchard,  woodland,  grove  and  glen  ; 

But  voices  breathing  gentle  words 
We  miss,  and  may  not  hear  again. 

Young  buds  may  burst,  and  wild-birds  sing, 
The  world  look  beautiful  and  gay  ; 

But  some  who  gladly  hailed  the  spring 
A  year  ago,  have  passed  away ; 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.         23 

Some  in  the  rosy  summer-tide, 

And  some  when  autumn-leaves  were  bright, 
No  matter  how,  or  when,  they  died, 

We  miss  them  now;  when  falls  the  light 
And  glory  of  the  opening  year 
Upon  our  way  —  they  are  not  here  ! 


v  THE  CHILD'S  LAST  SMILE.  / 

WHY  smiled  the  babe  in  its  dying  hour  ? 
It  had  not  smiled  in  many  weeks  ; 
It  had  faded  away  like  a  blighted  flower, 

The  pallor  of  death  was  upon  its  cheeks ; 
Its  eyes  were  glazing,  and  yet  it  smiled ; 
And  sweet  was  the  look  of  the  dying  child. 

Why  did  it  smile?    It  had  suffered  much, 
Weak  was  its  frame,  and  its  anguish  strong ; 

Did  it  smile  a  welcome  to  death's  cold  touch, 
Knowing  its  sorrow  should  cease  ere  long  ? 

Nay !  for  that  gentle  child  knew  not 

That  pain  and  death  are  the  "  common  lot." 

But  't  was  not  death  that  the  infant  felt, 

When  the  smile  stole  over  its  pale,  sweet  face, 

For  an  angel's  hand  the  stroke  had  dealt ; 
The  babe  was  clasped  in  his  bright  embrace, 

And  the  smile  was  the  shadow  of  glory  cast 

On  the  faded  clay,  as  the  spirit  pass'd. 


OH,  NAME  HER  NOT! 

OH!  name  her  not  in  tones  as  light 
As  those  in  which  we  used  to  speak 
When  her  young  hopes,  and  ours,  were  bright ; 

It  may  be  foolish,  may  be  weak, 
But  yet  I  cannot  bear  to  hear 
So  lightly  breathed,  a  name  so  dear. 

Yet  speak  of  her,  but  let  your  words 

Fall  softly  as  the  nightly  dews 
On  trembling  rose-leaves,  zephyr-stirred  ; 

Soft  winds  and  dewdrops  cannot  bruise 
The  frailest  leaf,  but  dancing  showers 
Fall  heavily  on  tender  flowers. 

And  thus  that  name,  breathed  carelessly, 
Fresh  anguish  in  my  heart  awakes, 

The  heart  which  keepeth  lovingly 
Her  memory,  which  never  breaks 

The  silence  gathering,  like  a  spell, 

Around  the  name  it  loves  so  well. 

24 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.        25 

Without  a  fluttering  throb,  a  sigh, 
A  quivering  pulse,  a  sinking  breath, 

So  deep  hath  been  my  sympathy 

With  her  who  sleeps  the  sleep  of  death. 

The  sound  of  her  beloved  name 

Thrills  sadly  through  my  heart  and  frame. 


THE  GATHERED  ROSE. 

"  She  died  in  beauty  like  the  rose  blown  from  its  parent  stem." 

SHALL  we  weep  for  the  blossom  which  passed 
away, 

While  the  early  dew  on  its  young  leaves  lay  ? 
Can  we  wish  it  had  bided  a  longer  time, 
Away  from  the  light  of  its  native  clime? 
Can  we  mourn  in  the  depths  of  our  selfish  love, 
That  angels  have  borne  it  to  bloom  above  ? 

Fair  was  the  blossom,  and  pure  and  meek, 
'T  is  ever  such  that  the  angels  seek ; 
When  they  come  to  cull  from  this  world  of  ours, 
Flowers  to  transplant  into  Eden's  bowers ; 
They  saw  our  rose  in  its  beauty  here, 
And  bore  it  up  to  their  own  bright  sphere. 
3 


26        SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

We  have  wept  for  the  lovely  thing, 
Snatched  from  our  sight  in  life's  early  spring ; 
We  have  mourned  as  fond  hearts  will  mourn, 
When  a  precious  thing  from  their  clasp  is  torn  ; 
When  the  light  that  smiled  on  their  path  for  years, 
Is  suddenly  quenched  in  a  tide  of  tears. 

Wild  was  our  grief,  but  the  storm  is  hushed, 
And  tears  which  once  like  a  torrent  gushed, 
Fall  gently  now  like  the  summer  dew, 
And  Hope's  sweet  sunshine  is  smiling  through  ; 
The  rose  was  plucked  by  a  gentle  hand, 
And  it  lives  and  blooms  in  a  brighter  land. 


THOUGHTS  OF  AGE. 

"Age  is  dark  and  unlovely."  —  OssiAJf. 

SHALL  old  age  come  upon  me  ?    Shall  my  eye 
Grow  dim  ?  and  weak  and  tremulous  my  hand  ? 
Shall  the  glad  music  of  my  spirit  die 

Before  I  pass  into  the  spirit- land  ? 
Shall  I  grow  weary  of  my  home  below, 

And  be  forever  longing  to  depart  ? 
And  shall  the  lines  which  deepen  on  my  brow 

Be  but  the  shadows  from  a  withered  heart  ? 
Shall  I  forget  the  songs  I  love  to  sing, 

Nor  heed  the  beauties  of  this  lovely  world  ? 
Shall  every  bright,  and  every  pleasant  thing, 

Grow  charmless  when  the  wing  of  youth  is  furled  ? 

It  may  be  so  —  I  cannot  know  my  lot ; 

It  may  be  age  and  weariness  and  care  ; 
But,  oh !  I  trust  that  memory  may  not 

Prove  traitor  to  her  trust,  for  she  doth  bear 

•11 


28       SOXGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

The  golden  key,  which  only  can  undo 

The  treasure-house  of  thought ;  if  that  be  lost, 
Old  age  indeed  is  desolate,  and  few 

The  joys  by  which  its  weary  way  is  cross'd ; 
And  there  are  memories  I  would  retain, 

Even  when  the  hand  of  Time  has  marked  my  face, 
And  scenes  which  I  in  thought  would  view  again, 

When  far  removed  may  be  my  dwelling-place. 
And  I  would  tune  even  till  my  latest  breath 

The  harp  whose  trembling  tones  a  few  may  love, 
Then  calmly  yield  it  to  the  hand  of  death, 

And  claim  it  tuned  to  purer  notes  above. 

But  why  thus  muse  upon  the  time  to  come? 

Why  dream  of  drooping  age,  with  furrowed  brow  ? 
May  not  the  young  flower  wither  in  its  bloom, 

The  seeds  of  death  be  planted  even  now  ? 
Who  knowcth  if  this  frail  frame  may  withstand 

The  chilling  blights  and  storms  of  many  years ; 
And  may  not  rather  to  death's  kindly  hand 

Give  up  its  harp  unrusted  yet  by  tears  ? 
If  this  my  fate,  one  only  prayer  be  mine : 

If  life's  young  blossom  wither  ere  its  noon, 
Be  mine  the  holy  trust  and  love  divine, 

Which  maketh  early  death  a  blesseM  boon ! 


TO  MY  FRIENDS. 

"TTOU  must  not  praise  the  songs  I  sing, 
JL       And  call  them  mine.     You  do  not  praise 
The  wind-harp  when  its  quivering  string, 
Swept  by  the  wandering  zephyr's  wing, 
Makes  music  sweeter  than  my  lays. 

All  praise  to  Him  who  framed  my  heart 

To  utter  music,  not  its  own. 
I  but  perform  the  lowly  part 

The  harp  does,  when  it  gives  the  tone 
He  wills,  whose  fingers  touch  the  strings. 
My  will  is  strong  in  other  things  ; 
But  from  my  heart  these  songs  gush  up 
Like  odor  from  the  blossom's  cup. 

3*  i>9 


THE  SUMMER  WIND. 

WIND  of  the  summer,  whence  dost  thou  come? 
Whence  is  the  sweetness  that  burdens  thy  wings? 
Song  of  the  wild-bird,  and  bee's  happy  hum, 

Where  hast  thou  gathered  these  beautiful  things  ? 

"  I  had  my  birth  in  a  bower  of  the  south, 

Waking  to  life  in  a  bright  orange-tree ; 
Lightly  I  danced  in  the  freshness  of  youth, 

Sported  alike  with  bird,  blossom,  and  bee ; 
Gayly  I  roamed  through  those  beautiful  bower-, 

Pleasantly  sang  as  I  wandered  along ; 
The  incense  I  bear  is  the  gift  of  the  flowers, 

For  the  praises  I  offered  to  each  in  ray  song. 

"  I  told  the  Clematis  in  whisperings  low, 

That  she  was  the  fairest  and  purest  of  earth, 

And  the  beautiful  vestal  \va.s  flattered,  I  know, 
Though  she  told  me  that  she  was  of  heavenly  birth. 

I  sang  to  the  red  rose  a  passionate  strain 

Of  love,  while  I  tenderly  pressed  her  fresh  lip, 


SOX  C,'S  0  /•'  KA  RL  Y  A  XD  LA  TER   YEA  RS.        31 

And  brushed  from  her  presence,  with  seeming  disdain, 
The  bee  that  had  come  of  her  sweetness  to  sip. 

"  Her  pale  peerless  sister  with  reverent  air 

I  kissed,  while  I  called  her  my  own  gentle  bride, 
Rested  awhile  in  her  bosom  so  fair, 

Then  to  the  lily  I  merrily  hied. 
Her  for  her  love  I  most  earnestly  sued, 

Her  did  I  win  with  my  tenderest  sigh. 
Flower  after  flower  thus  lightly  I  've  wooed, 

Flattered  awhile,  and  then  left  them  to  die. 

"I've  played  with  the  shadowy  vapors  that  rise, 

Wreathing  the  tops  of  the  verdant  old  hills  — 
Flung  over  the  lake's  quiet  bosom  my  sighs, 

Chanted  in  concert  with  fountains  and  rills. 
Beauty's  warm  cheek  I  have  carelessly  kissed, 

Tossed  her  light  curls  in  .my  frolicsome  plav, 
And  caught  her  ligbt  tones  as  she  laughingly  wished 

That  the  soft  summer  breezes  forever  would  stay. 

"  Into  an  invalid's  chamber  I  stole, 

Bearing  the  fragrance  of  numberless  flowers  ; 

And  won  from  its  sadness  the  pain-shadowed  soul, 
And  left  the  heart  dreaming  of  happier  hours. 

Through  the  dim  grates  of  a  prison  I  passed, 
Whispered  the  captive  of  kindred  and  home  — 


32        SOXGS  OF  EARLY  AX  1)  LATER   YEAH*. 

Oh !  how  he  longed  from  his  cramped  limbs  to  cast 
The  fetters,  and  free  as  the  summer  wind  roam. 

Round  his  pale  forehead  I  soothingly  swept, 

Waking  sweet  memories,  sparkling  through  tears ; 

Till  calmly  and  sweetly  the  weary  one  slept, 

And  wandered  in  dreams  to  the  joys  of  past  years. 

"  On  my  light  pinions  I  've  heavenward  borne 

Sweet  aspirations  of  innocent  hearts  ; 
Prayers  of  sad  spirits  that  inwardly  mourn, 

Pierced  by  Adversity's  slow-killing  darts. 
Voice  of  the  dying,  and  mourner's  low  dirge, 

Childhood's  gay  laughter,  and  you th's  happy  mi rlh, 
Music  of  streams,  and  the  ocean's  wild  surge, 

All  have  been  mine  as  I  rambled  o'er  earth. 
Mortal !  I  've  answered  thy  questionings  all, 

Whither  I  go  may  be  harder  to  tell ; 
But  I  know  I  shall  pass,  ere  the  summer  leaves  fall, 

Jo  some  land,  where  the  flowers  never  wither,  to 
dwell." 


MALINA. 

WE  laid  her  gently  on  her  bed, 
Her  small  hands  folded  on  her  breast, 
And  spoke  in  whispers,  as  afraid 

That  we  might  break  her  peaceful  rest : 
So  lifelike  seemed  her  sleep — the  hue 

Of  life  indeed  had  passed  away ; 

But  half  unveiled,  her  eyes'  soft  blue 

Beneath  the  drooping  lashes  lay. 

A  smile's  sweet  shadow  dimpled  yet 

Her  lip  and  cheek,  though  cold  as  snow ; 
As  when  the  sun,  in  glory  set, 

Leaves  on  the  sky  his  golden  glow. 
We  smoothed  the  curls  of  sunny  hair, 

That  fell  around  her  pale  young  face ; 
And  never  saw  I  aught  so  fair 

Whereon  death's  hand  had  left  its  trace. 

Death  sometimes  comes  in  gentle  form  — 
He  wore  an  angel's  beauty  there  ; 

C  33 


•  14        SOyGS  OF  EARLY  A.\D  LATER    YEARS. 

While  flowed  life's  current  fast  and  warm, 
The  child  had  seemed  less  sweetly  fair 

Than  when  beneath  the  shroud's  pale  fold 
She  lay  in  slumber  calm  and  cold. 


THE  FIRST  KISS. 

"VTAY,  ask  me  not  —  how  could  I  bring 
-Li      My  lips  to  rest  on  manhood's  brow? 
A  maiden  may  not  lightly  fling 

Her  timid  nature  off — ajid  thou, 
Caressed  as  thou  art  wont  to  be, 

What  were  a  kiss  of  mine  to  thee? 

"And  thou  wouldst  think  that  I  had  pressed 
Another  cheek  as  soon  as  thine ; 

Should  I  allow  my  lips  to  rest 

(Even  lightly  as  on  hallowed  shrine 

The  trembling  lips  of  devotee) 

On  thine,  as  pledge  of  love  to  thce?" 

But  then  some  words  of  gentle  sound 
Were  whispered  to  the  maiden's  heart ; 

She  could  not  bear  his  love  to  wound, — 
The  hour  had  come  when  they  must  part ; 

And  she  was  young,  and  fond,  and  true, — 
What  could  the  gentle  maidon  do? 


SOXGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER   YEARS.        35 

The  spell  is  broken  —  she  has  laid 
Her  trembling  lips  against  his  cheek  ; 

On  hers  there  is  a  deeper  shade 

Of  crimson ;  but  she  does  not  speak. 

Her  heart  is  hushed,  her  voice  is  still, 
'T  is  given  half  against-her  will ! 


A  CHILD'S  THOUGHTS. 

MOTHER !  you  say  there  is  no'  more  night 
In  that  far  land  where  the  angels  dwell 
Are  they  never  weary  of  so  much  light  ? 
I  love  the  day-time  and  sunshine  well, 
But  gladly  I  welcome  the  evening  hour, 
When  the  cool  dew  falls  on  the  closing  flower. 

"  Then  I  can  rest  from  my  long  day's  play. 

It  is  not  so  when  the  sunshine  falls 
Warm  and  bright,  as  it  does  to-day, 

Through  the  windows,  and  over  the  walls. 
My  eyes  grow  tired  of  the  dazzling  glare  ; 
But  I  cannot  sleep  —  will  it  be  so  there?  " 


36       SO^TGS  OF  EARLY  AX J)  LATER  YEARS. 

"  Nay !  thou  wilt  never  grow  weai-y,  child,  * 
Of  the  holy  light  of  that  happy  clime  ; 

Though  the  sun  hath  never  so  brightly  smiled 
On  us  in  the  beautiful  summer-time 

As  doth  the  light  of   '  Our  Father's '  face, 

Which  filleth  with  glory  that  blessed  place. 

"  Thou  wilt  wish  for  the  hush  of  night  no  more, 
Nor  long  to  slumber  as  thou  dost  now ; 

Weariness  comes  not  to  that  fair  shore, 
Beauty  and  health  never  leave  the  brow, 

But  fair  and  pure,  as  the  flowers  we  love, 

Are  all  who  dwell  in  that  home  above." 

"  But,  mother !  you  know  that  the  blossoms  die, 
Some  in  the  midst  of  the  summer  hours, 

And  some  when  frosts  on  the  valleys  lie. 
You  told  me  once,  that  as  died  the  flowers 

We  all  must  die ;  but  it  seems  to  me 

That  last  year's  flowers  were  the  same  I  see. 

"  Is  it  so,  dear  mother  ?    And  if  it  be, 

Will  the  dead  come  back  as  the  blossoms  do  ?  " 

"Nay,  listen,  my  child.    Each  plant  and  tree 
Has  blossoms  alike  in  form  and  hue 

To  those  which  it  last  year  bore  and  shed  : 

They  differ  thus  from  the  human  dead. 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.        37 

"  They  come  not  back —  they  shall  rise  again 
In  fairer  forms  than  on  earth  they  wore, 

And,  free  from  fear  of  decay  or  pain, 
Shall  live  in  heaven  for  evermore. 

We  seem  to  pass  like  the  flowers ;  but  we 

Only  put  off  our  mortality, 

To  claim  it  again  when  it  shall  be  made 

Holy,  immortal,  no  more  to  fade  !  " 


SUMMER  TWILIGHT. 

OH,  how  I  love  to  steal  away 
And  spend  an  hour  in  silent  musing ! 
Just  when  the  rosy  smile  of  day 

In  twilight  shades  its  light  is  losing. 
For  then  a  pure  and  holy  spell 

On  every  earthly  scene  seems  dwelling ; 
And  from  each  woody  hill  and  dell 
Soft,  faint-toned  melodies  are  swelling. 

They  are  not  like  the  gay,  glad  songs 

Through  field  and  forest  daily  ringing  ; 
But  pensively  they  float  along, 

Like  wearied  ones  sweet  vespers  singing. 
And  stars  come  stealing  gently  forth, 

In  dewy  brightness  calmly  beaming ; 
And  dew-drops  thicken  o'er  the  earth 

Like  pearls  among  the  dark  leaves  gleaming. 


38        SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

At  such  an  hour  my  spirit  turns 

Away  from  scenes  of  mirth  and  pleasure ; 
For  in  its  secret  depths  it  yearns 

For  purer  joys  and  richer  treasure. 
The  twilight  hour!  the  silent  prayer 

Of  thousands  at  this  hour  ascending, 
Like  incense  on  the  dewy  air, 

With  angel  songs  is  sweetly  blending. 
The  twilight  hour !  how  mild  and  calm 

It  woos  the  soul  to  meek  devotion, 
And  sheds  around  a  soothing  balm 

Which  stills  each  day-born,  wild  emotion. 


HEREAFTER. 

John  xiii.  7. 

WHEN  mists  are  darkening  'round  our  way, 
And  clouds  hang  threatening  overhead ; 
When  from  our  hearts  has  died  the  ray 
Of  light  which  earthly  comforts  shed ; 
When  all  without  is  dark  and  drear, 
And  all  within  is  gloom  and  fear ; 

How  sweet  the  pitying  voice  which  saith 
In  peaceful  whispers  to  the  soul : 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.        39 

"  Doubt  not,  oh  !  thou  of  little  faith, 
These  things  are  all  in  my  control, 
If  what  I  do  thou  knowest  not  here, 
Hereafter  I  will  make  it  clear." 

How  sweet  to  know  that  every  ill, 
Which  seems  so  grievous  now  to  bear, 

Obeys  the  mandate  of  His  will 

Who  kindly  makes  our  life  his  care ; 

That  though  mysterious  and  severe, 

"  Hereafter"  he  will  make  it  clear  ! 

What  comfort  to  the  stricken  heart 
The  dear  Redeemer's  words  convey  ! 

Though  now  we  only  "  know  in  part," 
His  hand  will  take  the  veil  away, 

And,  knowing,  "  even  as  we  are  known," 

We  soon  shall  stand  before  his  throne. 


LOIS. 

MY  heart  has  floral  emblems  for  the  fair 
And  lovely  of  earth's  children  ;  thine  shall  be 
That  rose  whose  bursting  is  so  beautiful, 
We  almost  wish  it  might  not  quite  unfold  ; 
Yet  with  its  slow  unfolding  charms  us  so, 
And  pours  such  odorous  incense  from  its  warm 


40        SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

Unclosing  heart,  that  while  we  drink  it  in 
Our  first  wish  is  forgotten.     Such  hath  been, 
Methinks,  thy  girlhood.     Such  is  now  the  bloom 
And  beauty  of  thy  ripened  womanhood. 


SUNSET  AND  TWILIGHT. 

THE  sun  hath  gone  down  in  the  crimsoned  West, 
The  dove  hath  flown  to  her  lonely  nest, 
And  the  golden  light  of  departing  day 
Tinges  the  mountains  far  away, 
Till  their  green  sides  glow  with  a  brilliant  flush, 
Like  a  calm  face  lighting  with  love's  warm  blush. 

The  sky  is  bright  as  the  light  that  gleams 
From  the  sparkling  waves  of  sunlit  streams, 
And  the  rosy  clouds  are  soft  and  light 
As  the  dreams  which  visit  our  hearts  by  night. 
The  soft  west  wind  as  it  murmurs  by 
With  its  fragrant  breath  and  dreamy  sigh, 
Makes  music  sweet  as  the  pleasant  tones 
Which  fall  from  the  lips  of  loving  ones, — 
Tones  which  leave  in  the  inmost  heart 
Gentle  echoes  which  never  depart. 

The  eye  which  rests  on  a  scene  so  bright 
Never  can  tire  of  the  gorgeous  sight : 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.        41 

The  soul  is  filled  with  a  rapture  pure, 

That  mortal  senses  can  scarce  endure  ; 

The  pulses  throb,  and  the  full  heart  longs 

To  frame  its  bliss  into  thrilling  songs, 

The  glorious  light  to  its  depth  to  win, 

Aiid  drink  the  spirit  of  beauty  in ; 

Embody  each  delicate  tint  and  glow, 

And  breathe  it  in  music  soft  and  low : 

But  its  powers  are  bound  in  too  bright  a  chain  — 

Lips  cannot  utter  that  spirit  strain. 

The  bright  hues  fade,  and  a  purple  mist 
Creeps  o'er  the  hills  which  the  sunbeams  kissed; 
The  thin  clouds  melt  from  their  mellow  hue, 
And  lose  themselves  in  the  deep,  dark  blue ; 
While  shadows  steal  o'er  the  quiet  scene, 
Like  fairy  forms  from  the  woodland  green. 
The  day-blooms  softly  are  folding  up 
The  glowing  leaves  of  each  tiny  cup ; 
Quietly  closing  each  drowsy  eye, 
Till  light  returns  to  the  eastern  sky, 
While  dew-drops  gather  like  gems  of  light, 
In  hearts  of  blossoms  which  scent  the  night. 

The  stars  come  out  in  the  arch  above, 
Pure  lamps  lit  up  by  the  hand  of  love ; 
And  earthward  spreading  their  shining  wings, 
As  if  to  vie  with  those  radiant  things ; 
4* 


42        SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

The  fireflies  glitter  and  gleam  and  glance, 
And  seem  to  move  in  a  mystic  dance ; 
The  sound  of  streams  and  the  scent  of  flowers 
Seem  sweeter  now  than  at  other  hours, 
And  the  soul  grows  calm  in  the  twilight  air, 
And  bows  itself  in  unspoken  prayer. 


HE  SPARETH  ME. 

HE  spareth  me  from  day  to  day,  — 
How  great  His  mercy  and  His  grace,  — 
Though  I  have  wandered  far  astray, 

Nor  sought  the  "hidings  of  His  face." 
Too  long  ray  erring  soul  her  trust 

Has  placed  on  earthly  things ;  my  heart 
Has  clung  too  fondly  to  the  dust,  — 
Has  been  too  loth  with  earth  to  part. 

And  yet  He  spareth  me!     He  hath 

Unwearied  watch  about  me  kept ; 
His  hand  by  day  has  marked  my  path, 

And  been  my  safety  while  I  slept. 
He  spareth  me,  while  others  fall 

Beneath  the  fatal  hand  of  death ; 
And  none  resists  the  dreaded  call, 

Which  bids  them  yield  their  fleeting  breath. 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.        43 

He  spareth  me !     Why  dotli  He  spare 

This  feeble  frame  of  fragile  clay  ? 
"Why  doth  He  for  the  wanderer  care, 

Who  erreth  from  the  living  way  ? 
He  spareth  me  that  I  may  turn 

And  seek  the  grace  He  waits  to  give, 
For  every  sin  and  folly  mourn, 

And  henceforth  to  His  glory  live. 


LEGEND  OF  THE  WELL. 

DOWN",  far  down,  in  a  deep  old  well, 
The  water  lay  calm  and  still ; 
Unmoved  by  the  winds,  whose  gentle  swell 

Ruffled  the  rippling  rill ; 
It  lay  and  looked  up  at  some  sweet  wild-flowers 

That  clustered  around  the  brink, 
Bending  their  heads  through  the  sunny  hours 
As  if  longing  to  bathe  or  drink. 

The  water  sent  up  his  gentle  song  : 

"Ye  beautiful  things,  come  hither, 
Ye  shall  rest  on  my  bosom  the  whole  day  long, 

And  your  beauty  shall  never  wither." 
"  It  is  far,  far  down,"  the  flowers  replied, 

"The  rambling  winds  would  miss  us, 
And  the  light  of  the  stars  at  eventide 

Could  never  come  there  to  kiss  us." 


44        SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

"  Come  down,"  said  the  water,  "  the  starbeams  fall 

On  my  quiet  bosom  nightly  ; 
And  among  the  moss  on  the  green  old  wall 

The  glowworm  sparkles  brightly." 
The  flowers  looked  down  with  their  meek  blue  eyes, 

And  whispered  to  one  another  — 
"  Shall  we  leave  the  light  of  these  sunny  skies, 

And  the  breast  of  Earth,  our  mother  ? 
Shall  we  wander  down  by  those  damp,  cold  walls, 

Where  the  dark-green  moss  is  clinging, 
Where  the  heat  of  the  sunshine  never  falls, 

And  we  '11  hear  no  blithe  birds  singing  ? 
Shall  we  leave  the  dews  of  the  twilight  dim, 

Whose  pearls  on  our  leaves  are  gleaming  ; 
And  listen  no  more  to  the  wild  bee's  hymn, 

As  he  sinks  to  his  nightly  dreaming  ?  " 

"  Oh !  come,"  said  the  water,  "  there 's  music  here 

From  the  harps  of  the  fairies  swelling ; 
And  dark  and  dim  though  the  path  appear, 

There 's  light  in  my  moss-girt  dwelling." 
The  flowers  gazed  on,  and  the  water  smiled, 

They  seemed  so  fondly  stooping, 
But  his  winning  words  had  their  life  beguiled, 

Their  heads  in  death  were  drooping. 

The  pale  leaves  dropped  from  the  withering  stems, 
And  through  the  dim  space  fluttered ; 


t 

SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER   YEARS.        45 

The  water  treasured  the  scattered  gems, 

And  a  sad,  sweet  sigh  it  uttered  ; 
And  then  from  a  thousand  silvery  strings 

A  plaintive  sound  came  ringing  — 
The  fairy's  dirge  for  the  lovely  things, 

They  had  marked  by  the  well-side  springing. 


A  MOTHER  TO  HER  DYING  CHILD. 

IIFE  has  no  weary  years  for  thee, 
1     No  rugged  paths  for  thee  to  tread  ; 
For  o'er  thy  pillow  lovingly 

An  angel's  snowy  wings  are  spread, 
A  blessed  angel  sent  by  Love, 
To  bear  thee  to  his  home  above. 

Thy  frame  is  wearied  out  with  pain, 
And  pale  and  wasted  is  thy  cheek, 

Where  not  a  hue  of  health  remains  ; 
Thy  eyes  are  dim,  thy  pulse  is  weak, 

And  feebly  comes  the  fluttering  breath, 

Which  tells  the  near  approach  of  death. 

I  weep,  I  cannot  else  than  weep, 
To  see  thee  meekly  suffering  on  ; 


4G       SONGS  OF  EARLY  A\D  LATER  YEARS. 

When  love  alone  its  watch  must  keep, 
The  hope  of  health,  of  life,  is  gone, 
And  mournfully  I  wait  the  last 
Faint  sigh,  which  tells  me  all  is  past. 

Aye,  mournfully,  although  I  know 
That  death  will  bring  relief  to  thee ; 

That  while  thy  mother's  tears  will  flow, 
Thou  wilt,  rejoicing  to  be  free, 

Unfold  thy  unseen  wings,  and  rise 

With  songs  of  gladness  to  the  skies. 

And  this  has  almost  dried  my  tears, 

To  know  that  He  who  loves  thee  best, 
Has  called  thee  in  thy  early  years 

To  perfect  and  eternal  rest, 
And  sent  a  messenger  who  waits 
To  lead  thee  through  the  golden  gates ; 
And  though  my  lonely  heart  will  ache, 
I  will  be  glad  for  thy  sweet  sake ! 


THE  SPIRIT'S  REST. 

WHEN  hath  the  Spirit  rest? 
When  the  morning  of  life  is  fresh  and  fair, 
And  we  rest  in  peace  on  our  mother's  breast, 

And  all  our  joys  are  centred  there  ? 
Yes,  then  it  hath  rest ;  but  it  lasts  not  long, 
Ere  other  thoughts  on  our  bosoms  throng. 

When  hath  the  Spirit  rest? 

When  the  hopes  of  youth  around  us  shine, 
And  fancy's  wild,  gay  dreams  invest 

Life  with  a  radiance  half  divine  ? 
Nay,  then  the  Spirit  cannot  rest, 
But  ever  is  seeking  to  be  more  blest. 

When  hath  the  Spirit  rest  ? 

When  love  throws  over  it  his  rosy  wing, 
And  the  fond,  trusting  heart  is  blest 

With  the  love  of  some  fair  mortal  thing  ? 
Aye  !  then  it  rests  for  a  little  while, 
Till  the  spell  is  broken  by  death  or  guile. 

47 


48        SOXGS  OF  EARLY  AXD  LATER  YEARS. 

When  hath  the  Spirit  rest? 

When  wealth  pours  on  us  her  golden  store, 
And  for  the  proud  ambitious  breast 

Fame  yields  her  meed ;  what  lack  we  more  ? 
Not  then :  for  how  can  the  Spirit  rest 
With  the  care  of  wealth  and  pride  oppressed  ? 

When  hath  the  Spirit  rest  ? 

When  the  lights  have  gone  out  in  the  halls  of 

mirth, 
When  joy  is  no  longer  the  glad  heart's  guest, 

And  we  turn  away  from  the  hopes  of  earth, 
And  bow  our  pride  to  the  chastening  rod  — 
Then  we  find  peace  and  rest  in  God. 


"LET  BYGONES  BE  BYGONES." 

Scottish  Saying. 

LET  bygones  be  bygones :  't  is  idle  to  grieve 
For  things  which  are  past,  which  we  cannot 

retrieve ; 

If  the  past  has  been  wasted,  the  present  is  ours : 
Shall  we   strew   it  with  thorns,  or  adorn  it  with 

flowers  ? 

Let  bygones  be  bygones,  repent  for  the  past, 
But  let  not  its  shade  o'er  the  present  be  cast. 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.        49 

Let  bygones  be  bygones :  have  friends  been  unkind, 

Or  carelessly  wounded  a  sensitive  mind  ? 

Forgive ;  it  is  better  the  wrong  to  forgive 

And  forget,  than  in  galling  remembrance  to  live. 

Let  bygones  be  bygones,  't  is  folly  to  nurse 

A  wound,  which  if  fostered  grows  deeper  and  worse. 

If  joy  hath  smiled  on  thee,  if  wealth  has  been  thine, 
Then  left  thee  for  others  their  garlands  to  twine  ; 
If  thou  hast  been  touched  by  adversity's  blast, 
Oh  !  dwell  not  too  much  on  the  happier  past. 
Let  bygones  be  bygones,  those  blessings  God  lent, 
His  hand  now  withholds  them,  and  be  thou  content. 


THE  WATCHERS. 

WEARILY  watching  by  night  and  day, 
They  counted  the  hours  as  they  passed  away, 
Till  their  eyes  grew  dim  and  their  hearts  grew  weak, 
And  thin  and  wan  was  each  wasted  cheek, 
And  sad  their  voices  and  soft  their  tread, 
As  theirs  who  move  round  a  dying  bed. 

Spring  had  come  with  her  gift  of  flowers, 
Her  singing  birds  and  her  sunny  hours  ; 


50        SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

The  skies  were  bright,  and  the  streams  were  free, 
The  air  was  full  of  sweet  harmony, 
The  earth  was  spread  with  its  brightest  green, 
And  Nature  smiled  on  the  brilliant  scene. 

But  the  budding  flowers,  and  the  sun's  warm  light, 

Charmless  burst  on  their  aching  sight, 

For  the  light  was  barred  from  the  quiet  room 

Of  one  who  languished  in  pain  and  gloom  ; 

And  sweetest  blossoms  no  balm  could  shed 

For  the  fevered  lip  and  the  aching  head. 

Weary  vigils  those  watchers  kept : 

Lonely,  by  turns,  they  watched  or  slept, 

Or  watched  together,  (they  were  but  twain,) 

In  anxious  grief  by  the  couch  of  pain  ; 

But  the  grief  was  hushed  in  each  sorrowing  breast, 

For  a  sigh  might  break  that  uncertain  rest. 

Wearily  passed  the  hours  away, 
From  fall  of  night  till  the  dawn  of  day, 
And  the  day  was  dull,  as  the  night  was  lone, 
To  the  hearts  whence  joy  had  sadly  flown, 
Where  the  pulses  of  hope  beat  sad  and  low, 
And  the  spirits  had  lost  their  joyous  flow. 

But  the  darkest  hour  of  the  drearest  night 
Gives  place  to  the  cheerful  morning  light ; 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.        51 

And  the  shade  of  fear,  which  had  long  o'ercast 
Those  faithful  hearts,  was  dispelled  at  last, — 
They  smiled  again  through  dimming  tears, 
While  Hope  sang  sweetly  of  coming  years ; 

Of  bliss  made  bright  by  the  test  of  pain  — 
They  had  not  suffered  and  watched  in  vain ; 
The  boon  was  granted,  which  many  a  prayer 
Had  asked  in  anguish,  almost  despair; 
And  songs  of  joy  from  their  glad  lips  poured, 
For  the  loving  friend  to  their  hearts  restored. 


THE  MINER'S  GRAVE. 


is  a  lone  and  lowly  grave 
-L    In  the  far-off  golden  land, 
Where  sunburnt  miners  laid  to  rest 

One  of  their  toiling  band  ; 
It  is  a  wild  and  lonely  spot, 

Far  from  his  home  away, 
But  thitherward  a  few  fond  hearts 

Are  turning  day  by  day. 

A  widowed  wife,  an  orphan  child, 

And  sisters  kind  and  true, 
Shed  many  a  tear  for  him  whose  grave 

Their  eyes  may  never  view. 


52       SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

And  there  is  one  who  loved  him  well 
When  youth  was  on  his  brow  — 

It  is  not  wrong  for  her  to  dwell . 
Upon  his  memory  now. 

In  life  another  claimed  his  love, 

His  name  another  wore ; 
She  hushed  her  love  within  her  heart, 

And  Hope  sang  there  no  more. 
But  when  the  heavy  sods  were  spread 

'Twixt  him  and  human  ties, 
What  need  was  there  to  leave  unshed 

The  tears  which  dimmed  her  eyes? 

Within  her  heart  for  many  a  year 

Life's  withered  hopes  have  lain, 
Yet  to  the  hearts  who  hold  her  dear 

She  has  not  lived  in  vain  ; 
Her  smile  has  been  the  brightest  smile, 

Her  voice  the  sweetest  voice, 
Within  her  home,  and  many  a  heart 

Her  kindly  deeds  rejoice. 
But  none,  save  one  who  knew  her  best 

Since  girlhood's  early  years, 
Has  guessed  that  o'er  that  far-off  grave 

Her  true  heart  sheddeth  tears. 


SWEET  FRIEND. 

THIS  long  since  I  saw  thy  face,  sweet  friend! 

JL      Aye,  many  a  year  has  flown 
Since  I  met  the  light  of  thy  loving  eyes, 

And  thy  warm  lips  pressed  my  own ; 
And  many  a  change  has  come,  sweet  friend  ! 

Many  a  change  to  me, 
While  still  I  await  the  greater  change 

Which  long  ago  came  to  thee. 

I  have  been  growing  old,  sweet  friend  ! 

My  locks  are  streaked  with  gray ; 
But  there 's  not  a  silver  thread  in  thine, 

Thy  youth  never  passed  away. 
Treading  a  rough  and  toilsome  way, 

I  've  reached  life's  afternoon  ; 
And  I  cannot  weep  to-day  for  one 

Who  went  to  rest  so  soon. 
5*  53 


54        SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

Oh,  it  is  well  with  thee,  sweet  friend  ! 

A  blessed  home  is  thine, 
And  sorrow  and  care  cannot  enter  there, 

As  they  have  entered  mine ; 
Thy  life  on  earth  was  bright  and  brief, 

Thy  rest  was  early  won  ; 
And  sweet  to  me  is  the  hope  of  rest, 

When  all  my  work  is  done. 


OUR  FATHER. 

HOW  kind  is  our  Father !  how  tender  his  love ! 
He  visits  us  daily  with  gifts  from  above ; 
He  giveth  us  shelter,  and  raiment,  and  bread, 
While  many  are  homeless,  and  cold,  and  unfed. 

He  gives  us,  moreover,  the  word  of  his  grace, 
To  guide  us  to  Heaven,  that  glorious  place, 
Where  the  walls  are  of  crystal,  the  streets  are  of  gold, 
And  the  '  King  in  his  beauty '  our  eyes  shall  behold. 

How  sweet  is  the  thought,  when  this  life  shall  be  o'er, 
There 's  a  home  where  affliction  can  reach  us  no  more ; 
Where  never  can  enter  temptation  or  pain, 
And  we  never  can  g-ieve  our  kind  Father  again. 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.         55 

Oh,  let  us  be  thankful  to  God  for  his  care, 
And  cheerfully  mingle  thanksgiving  with  prayer ; 
Let  us  love  him,  and  trust  him,  and  walk  in  his  ways, 
Till  we  enter  that  home  where  our  work  shall  be  praise. 


THE  PLEASANT  THEME. 

OF  heaven  and  angels  I  would  sing, 
For  then  it  is  that  music  flows, 
As  freely  from  my  soul-harp's  strings, 

As  odor  from  a  dewy  rose ; 
Oh !  't  is  a  sweet  and  pleasant  theme, 

And  never,  never  wearies  me,  — 
Wrapped  in  a  bright  and  starry  dream 

Of  glory,  love,  and  harmony, 
My  spirit  loves  to  fold  her  wings, 

And  close  her  eyes  on  earthly  things. 

But,  ah  !  this  weak  mortality, 

This  taint  of  sin  upon  the  soul, 
With  tyrant  force  they  hurry  me 

Back  to  the  sinful  world's  control. 
Ah  !  sinful  world  !  thy  wiles  have  led 

My  struggling  soul  too  oft  astray, 
Thy  light  too  frequently  has  shed 

A  dazzling  glare  upon  my  way, 


56         SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

Which  hid  from  my  bewildered  eyes 
A  light  more  beautiful  and  soft, 

The  glorious  light  of  Paradise  ; 

And,  oh !  vain  world  !  for  thee  too  oft 

The  loftier  strains  I  should  have  sung 

Have  died  in  silence  on  my  tongue. 

I  did  not  dare  with  lips  profane, 

Profaned  with  worldliness  and  pride, 
To  breathe  the  spirit-kindling  strain 

Which  sadly  in  my  bosom  died. 
But  I  will  break  thy  mighty  spell ; 

My  spirit  must,  and  will  be  free, 
To  sing  the  themes  it  loves  so  well, 

And  I  shall  sing  them  joyfully  ; 
While  the  sweet  angels  Faith  and  Love 

Shall  bring  me  visions  of  the  blest, 
And  bear  my  trembling  notes  above, 

Where  Hope  has  whispered  I  may  rest, 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  the  Throne 
Where  light  and  glory  reign  alone. 


EVENING. 

rr^HE  evening  calm  on  nature's  breast 
JL    Hath  fallen  ;  the  voice  of  living  things 
Is  hushed  in  quietness  to  rest. 

The  birds  have  folded  up  their  wings, 
The  wild  bee  slumbers  in  the  heart 

Of  half-shut  blossoms,  whose  meek  eyes 
(Whence  drops  of  dewy  brightness  start) 

Turn  dreamily  toward  the  skies. 

The  winds  have  ceased  their  wonted  mirth, 

As  if  they  too  had  fallen  asleep 
Amid  the  holy  hush  of  earth, 

While  smiling  stars  their  night-watch  keep  ; 
Their  pale  rays  kiss  the  dimpling  wave 

With  trembling  light,  like  broken  gems, 
Where  crystal  waters  rippling  lave 

The  water-lilies'  drooping  stems. 

O'er  valley,  village,  field  and  wood, 
The  quiet  wing  of  peace  is  thrown  ; 

57 


58        SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YKMiS. 

And  in  the  woodland  solitude 

Sits  Silence,  on  her  shadowy  throne. 
At  this  still  hour  sweet  fancies  steal 

With  quiet  music  through  the  heart, 
Like  scented  breezes  which  we  feel 

And  love,  but  know  not  whence  they  start. 
It  may  be  angel-bands  are  near, 

As  sang  the  bard  of  heavenly  things  — 
Whose  voices  to  the  outward  ear 

Should  not,  but  in  soft  whisperings, 
Speak  to  the  soul  in  language  such 
As  may  its  holiest  feelings  touch, 
And  'mid  its  hallowed  depths  be  sung, 
But  may  not  fall  from  mortal  tongue. 


JUNE. 

OH !  is  not  earth  a  place  of  loveliness 
In  this  sweet  season  of  green  leaves  and  flowers? 
One's  heart  is  burdened  with  the  sweet  excess 

Of  bliss  unspoken  —  the  delicious  hours 
Glide  by  on  fragrant  pinions,  with  a  sound 

Of  minstrelsy  exquisite,  and  the  light 
Of  blue  and  sunny  skies,  which  fling  around 
Their  mellow  radiance.     Every  moment's  flight 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.        59 

Is  marked  by  something  beautiful  and  new, 

Some  bright-winged  insect  bursting  from  its  cell, 
Some  delicate  bud,  disclosing  to  the  view 

Its  glowing  bosom,  and  in  many  a  dell 
Young  fledglings  flutter  on  unpractised  wing, 

While  mirth  and  music  through  the  woodland  ring. 
Wild  bees  hum  dreamily  their  pleasant  song 

Among  the  scented  clover ;  field  and  glen 
Are  full  of  life  and  music ;  all  day  long 

The  song  of  birds  is  sounding  there;  and  when 
The  sun  withdraws  his  light,  and  shadows  lie 

Upon  the  brow  of  Nature,  winds  and  streams 
Keep  up  a  soft  delicious  harmony 

That  soothes  the  spirit  into  blissful  dreams  ; 
While  pour  the  trembling  stars  and  glorious  moon 
Their  richest  radiance  from  the  sky  of  June. 


THE  POET. 

THE  poet  singeth  ;  his  songs  go  forth  ; 
The  world  enraptured  listens ; 
For  he  calleth  smiles  to  the  lip  of  mirth, 

Or  tears  in  bright  eyes  to  glisten. 
He  waketh  or  quelleth  the  throb  of  grief; 

He  wrappeth  in  deep  devotion, 
And  winneth  hearts  to  his  own  belief 
In  a  tide  of  sweet  emotion. 


60        SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

Yet  singeth  he  like  the  unknown  bird 

In  its  forest  home  which  hideth, 
While  fain  are  they  who  its  songs  have  heard 

To  know  where  the  minstrel  bideth  ; 
But  few  would  guess  that  the  timid  thing, 

From  the  woodland  path  that  springeth, 
Could  fold  'neath  its  dusky  breast  and  wing 

The  notes  which  the  famed  one  singeth. 

And  thus  uncared  is  the  poet  passed 

By  those  who  his  fame  are  swelling ; 
And  many  a  scornful  glance  is  cast 

On  his  homely  garb  and  dwelling. 
But  he  can  smile,  though  their  pride  may  wound 

And  canker  his  lofty  spirit ; 
For  the  voice  of  fame  hath  a  pleasant  sound, 

And  the  world  hath  owned  his  merit. 
No  matter,  then,  though  that  world  should  scorn 

The  being  it  should  have  cherished  ; 
The  glorious  strains  of  his  genius  born 

Shall  live  when  its  pride  has  perished. 


DYING  ROSES. 

f  MHEY  are  dying,  they  are  dying  ! 
_L    A  thousand  bright-lipped  flowers 
Are  flinging  down  their  fading  leaves, 

In  soft  and  fitful  showers. 
The  golden  sun  of  summer 

Hath  never  shone  more  fair, 
And  the  odor  of  the  dying  flowers 

Lies  sweetly  on  the  air  : 
But  we  know  that  they  are  passing, 

And  their  very  sweetness  brings 
Regret,  that  we  must  lose  so  soon 

Such  fair  and  fragrant  things ! 

They  are  fading,  they  are  fading ! 

But  not  alone  they  die, 
For  many  a  form  as  fair  as  they 

Must  soon  as  lowly  lie. 
There  is  many  a  warm  cheek  paling, 

And  bright  lip  growing  wan, 

(5  61 


62        SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER-  YEARS. 

While  lies  the  shadow  of  the  grave 

The  warm  young  heart  upon. 
They  are  passing,  they  are  passing ! 

The  golden-winged  hours 
Are  bearing  them  more  swiftly  hence 

Than  even  the  dying  flowers. 
There  are  some  lingering  rosebuds 

Just  bursting  into  bloom  — 
Enough  to  twine  a  parting  wreath 

To  lay  upon  the  tomb. 


SORROW  UNASSUAGED. 


tell  me  to  cease  from  my  sorrow, 
JL    They  say  it  is  sinful  and  vain, 
And  that  I  shall  go  to  the  lost  one 

Who  cannot  come  to  me  again. 
To  many  such  things  I  have  listened, 

Well  knoweth  my  sorrowful  heart 
That  my  darling  went  from  me  forever. 

The  hour  when  I  saw  him  depart, 
I  know  that  his  love  and  his  beauty 

Shall  gladden  my  heart  no  more, 
Till  I  shall  have  forded  the  river 

Which  washes  Eternity's  shores  ; 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.        63 

And  therefore  my  heart  goeth  mourning, 

Mourning  and  sorrowing  on, 
For  the  flower  in  its  summer-time  blighted^ 

The  rainbow  so  suddenly  gone. 


TO  JENNY  LIND. 

WELCOME,  sweet  warbler!   whose  wild  notes 
are  ringing, 

Birdlike  and  free,  through  our  beautiful  land  ; 
Thou  in  whose  pathway  the  gifted  are  flinging 

Tributes  which  genius  alone  can  command. 
Poets  have  welcomed  thee  warmly  and  proudly, 

Wealth  has  bowed  down  at  the  nightingale's  shrine, 
And  while  their  welcomes  were  echoing  loudly, 

Scarce  hadst  thou  heard  the  low  whisper  of  mine ; 
Still  in  my  bosom  it  murmured  unspoken, 

What  were  the  song  of  a  stranger  to  thee  ? 
But  from  its  silence  my  spirit  has  broken  : 

Listen,  fair  "Bird  of  the  Nor'land,"  to  me. 

Not  for  the  gift  that  is  winning  thee  treasure, 
Wreathing  thy  brow  with  the  garland  of  fame, 

Cast  I  this  drop  in  the  o'erflowing  measure, 
Filled  to  the  praise  of  thy  wide-echoed  name ; 


64        SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

Not  to  thy  name,  but  to  thy  heart  am  I  singing, 
To  thy  sweet  nature,  warm,  loving,  and  free, 

Woman's  affectionate  sympathy  bringing, 
As  a  fit  offering,  fair  stranger,  to  thee. 

Sweet  is  thy  gift,  but  the  spirit  which  knoweth 

Rightly  to  use  it  is  lovelier  far  ; 
Nobler  the  heart  whence  love's  radiance  floweth, 

Pure  as  the  light  of  night's  earliest  star. 
Such  is  the  love  of  humanity  swelling, 

Pure  and  unchecked  in  thy  generous  breast ; 
Bringing  back  light  to  the  gloom-shadowed  dwelling, 

Making  the  heart  of  the  destitute  blest. 

Sorrowful  hearts,  which  thy  kindness  has  gladdened, 

Thankfully  mingle  thy  name  with  their  prayers ; 
(Oh !  may  thy  own  spirit  never  be  saddened, 

Never  bowed  down  by  adversity's  cares.) 
Therefore,  fair  sister !  I  welcome  and  bless  thee, 

Though  thy  sweet  voice  is  yet  strange  to  my  ear, 
Therefore  my  heart  goeth  forth  to  caress  thee,  4 

Breathing  that  home-word  so  precious  and  dear ; 
Therefore  I  wish  that  thy  heart  may  be  ever 

Bright  with  love's  sunshine,  unsullied  by  tears, 
And  that  our  voices  may  mingle  together 

With  seraphim's  songs,  through  eternity's  years. 


WE  SAID  FAREWELL. 

WE  said  farewell :  I  knew  not  then 
The  agony  that  word  contains, 
For  then  we  hoped  to  meet  again. 
We  parted  :  and  to  me  remains 
A  blessed  memory,  warm  and  bright, 

Bathed  often  in  a  tide  of  tears, 
But  ever  radiant  with  a  light 

Which  shall  outlive  the  flight  of  years ! 

We  met  no  more  :  that  first  farewell, 

Too  lightly  spoken,  was  the  last ; 
A  sculptured  marble  briefly  tells 

How  love's  fair  sky  was  overcast. 
Oh  !  sad  and  sore  my  heart  hath  been, 

And  strong  the  conflict  in  my  breast ; 
I  know  that  thou  hast  entered  in 

The  glorious  and  eternal  rest ; 

G  *  E  65 


66       SOXGS  OF  EALtLY  AXD  LATER   YEARS. 

And  mournfully  my  soul  hath  striven, 
With  calm,  submissive  faith,  to  bear, 

And  bless  the  high  behest  of  heaven  : 
But  there  was  strife  and  anguish  there. 


The  love  that  held  thee  in  its  clasp 

Was  loth  to  say  that  it  was  well, 
And  yield  thee  to  Death's  icy  grasp, 

And  leave  thee  when  his  shadow  fell. 
It  cannot  be,  beloved !  my  heart 

Will  yield  to  none  the  place  of  love 
It  kept  for  thee  —  death  could  not  part 

Our  spirits :  thou  hast  gone  above, 
And  I  am  lingering  still  below ; 

But  fondly  beats  my  heart  for  thee, 
And  dearer  than  the  richest  flow 

Of  music,  is  thy  name  to  me ! 

And  thou  art  with  me  still  in  dreams, 

Sweet  angel  of  my  sleeping  hours ! 
Thy  voice,  the  mellow  gush  of  streams ; 

Thy  step,  the  breeze  'mid  trembling  flowers; 
I  feel  thy  warm  hand  clasp  my  own, 

Thy  cheek  to  mine  in  fondness  pressed  — 
I  wake,  content  to  be  alone, 

Since  thou  hast  gone  to  "  blissful  rest." 


THE  PET  BIRD. 

was  a  bird,  a  petted  thing  and  cherished, 
A  household  darling  tenderly  caress'd, 
Whose  plaintive  voice,  for  every  flower  that  perished, 
Sent  mournful  echoes  through  her  sheltered  nest  ; 
And  they  who  loved  her,  loved  her  sad-toned  singing, 

And  said  it  was  the  music  of  their  life, 
And  that  its  echoes  in  their  hearts  were  ringing, 
When  they  went  forth  amid  life's  toil  and  strife. 

Sometimes  a  passing  stranger  paused  to  hear  her, 

And   sometimes   murmured   flattering  words   of 

praise ; 
But  the  kind  words  of  household  love  were  dearer, 

And  these  could  ever  win  her  gentlest  lays. 
Thus  sang  she  on,  and  years  passed  swiftly  o'er  her, 

Marked  by  the  death  of  many  a  treasured  flower ; 
Blossoms  and  buds  which  faded  out  before  her, 

Leaving  their  fragrance  floating  'round  her  bower. 

67 


68        SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

Thus  sang  she  on,  still  earnestly  and  sadly, 

Till  one  who  bent  to  listen,  breathed  a  tone 
Which  made  her  bosom's  pulses  flutter  gladly, 

Albeit  the  voice  was  mournful  as  her  own. 
It  told  her  he  who  sang  was  sad  and  lonely, 

That  in  his  pathway,  joys  but  bloomed  to  die ; 
That  her  soft  voice  could  cheer  him.  and  hers  only, 

And  bring  Hope's  rainbow  to  his  clouded  sky. 

It  told  her  of  a  home  whereto  her  presence 

Could  bring  content  to  dwell  a  constant  guest ; 
And  thus  her  spirit  learned  the  mystic  lessons, 

Which  were  to  win  her  from  the  household  nest. 
That  voice  grew  dearer,  in  her  spirit  making       , 

Such  music  as  no  voice  had  made  before, 
Within  her  bosom's  quiet  depths  awaking 

Emotions  which  might  slumber  never  more. 

Her  home  was  dear,  but  th§t  sweet  voice  was  dearer, 

And  when  it  called  her  thence  in  accents  low, 
Her  voice  was  never  firmer,  never  clearer, 

Than  when  it  breathed  the  earnest  "  I  will  go." 
And  to  a  quiet  nest  the  loved  one  bore  her, 

And  there  she  folded  lovingly  her  wings  ; 
And  with  love's  sunlight  softly  smiling  o'er  her, 

A  cheerful  strain  the  petted  song-bird  sings. 


THE  MUSIC  OF  THE  WATERS. 

f"PHE  rushing  of  the  waters, 
JL      Oh,  how  I  love  to  hear 
When  they  burst  their  icy  fetters 

In  the  spring-time  of  the  year  ! 
They  seem  to  start  so  joyously 

From  every  mountain  spring, 
With  sound  so  like  the  melodies 

Which  merry  children  sing. 

The  music  of  the  waters ! 

At  evening's  quiet  hour, 
It  steals  into  my  listening  heart, 

With  gentle  dream-like  power  ; 
And  wakes  a  thousand  memories 

Of  days  departed  long, 
When  first  I  learned  to  love  so  well 

The  restless  water's  song. 

It  minds  me  of  a  rocky  steep 

Whence  many  streamlets  gushed, 

69 


70        SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

Whose  voices  seemed  to  grow  more  deep 
And  wild,  as  on  they  rushed  ; 

They  seemed  forever  singing 
Sweet  anthems  for  the  flowers, 

Which  clustered  on  their  edges, 
Through  summer's  sunny  hours. 

The  music  of  the  waters ! 

No  sweeter  song  is  sung 
Than  that  they  chant  while  wandering 

Earth's  lovely  scenes  among ; 
I  know  not  if  in  other  ears 

They  breathe  such  harmony, 
But  very  pleasant  is  the  song 

The  waters  sing  to  me ! 


OLD  SONGS. 

OH !  sing  them  not  —  those  olden  songs 
I  cannot  bear  to  hear  them  sung ; 
Their  plaintive  sweetness  all  belongs 

To  years  when  life  and  hope  were  young. 
There  is  not  one,  but  brings  me  back 

Some  memory  of  days  gone  by, 
When  flowers  were  thick  along  life's  track, 
And  stars  were  bright  in  love's  fair  sky. 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.        71 

The  flowers  are  dead,  the  stars  are  dim, 

And  thorns  about  my  pathway  spring ; 
And  mournful  as  a  funeral  hymn 

Are  those  old  songs  I  used  to  sing. 
Then  sing  them  not  —  I  still  would  be 

The  loving  child  of  hope  and  trust, 
But  every  note  recalls  to  me 

Some  hope  that  crumbled  into  dust. 


MARCH  WINDS. 

balmy  scent  of  spring  is  on  the  breeze  ; 
-L      'T  is  not  the  scent  of  flowers,  they  bloom  not  yet ; 
'T  is  not  the  early  blossoming  of  trees, 

Their  tiny  leaf-buds  are  not  more  than  set ;  — 
I  know  not  whence  the  breathing  fragrance  flows, 

Which  comes  upon  the  first  warm  breath  of  spring, 
Long  ere  the  violet  or  early  rose 

Unfold  their  sweets  to  woo  the  zephyr's  wing : 
Mayhap  it  cometh  from  the  dark-brown  earth 

Where  sleeps  the  loveliness  of  summer  hours, 
And  the  young  winds  have  in  their  early  mirth 

Stirred  up  the  odors  of  the  perished  flowers. 

I  know  not,  and  it  matters  not  to  know, 

The  secret  of  the  march-wind's  balmy  breath  — 


72        SONGS  OF  EARLY  AXD  LATER  YEARS. 

I  love  it  better  that  its  murmurs  low 

Are  waked  in  scenes  which  wear  the  hue  of  death  ,- 
The  mourning  hue  which  chilly  autumn  gave  — 

It  sounds  like  music  breathed  above  the  tomb, 
Whose  soft  notes  tell  of  hope  beyond  the  grave, 

As  march-winds  herald  April's  coming  bloom. 


LITTLE  AKCHIE. 

IN  the  holy  Sabbath  dawning, 
Ere  the  rosy-fingered  morning 
Had  unbarred  the  gates  of  light, 
Little  Archie's  spirit  breaking 
From  its  fragile  casket,  wakened 
To  a  Sabbath  morn  more  bright. 

Oh,  that  glorious  awaking! 
Angel  hands  the  babe  uptaking, 

Up  to  heaven  rejoicing  bore  ; 
And  the  friends  who  have  resigned  him, 
Lingering  mournfully  behind  him, 
On  some  blessed  morn  shall  find  him, 

Find,  and  never  lose  him  more. 


THE  DEAD. 

loved  of  earth  —  how  they  pass  away! 
Like  the  sunny  smiles  of  a  summer  day  ; 
They  pass  from  earth,  we  see  them  fall 
As  a  gem  drops  out  from  a  coronal  — 
As  blossoms  torn  from  a  healthy  stem ; 
'Tis  thus  that  we  ever  think  of  them. 
We  look  with  tears  on  a  vacant  place, 
And  sigh  for  the  loss  of  a  well-known  face ; 
We  murmur  the  names  we  loved,  in  vain  — 
They  cannot  answer  our  call  again. 

They  have  passed  away  to  their  quiet  rest, 
Earth  foldeth  them  in  her  silent  breast ; 
The  chill  winds  howl,  or  warm  rains  weep, 
Alike  unheeded  above  their  sleep  ; 
And  flowers  may  burst  at  the  touch  of  spring, 
And  green  leaves  rustle,  and  wild  birds  sing ; 
But  it  matters  not  to  the  mouldering  dust, 
The  green  earth  holdeth  in  faithful  trust. 

7  73 


74        SOXGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

They  pass,  and  their  place  must  henceforth  be 
Vacant,  save  in  the  memory 
Of  those  who  loved  them,  —  the  faithful  few, — 
Whose  hearts,  to  the  dead,  are  fond  and  true ; 
Whose  love  wanes  not  with  the  burdened  breath, 
And  sinking  pulse  that  tells  of  death  ; 
That  goes  not  out  when  the  death-sealed  eye 
Is  shut  from  the  light  of  the  glorious  sky  ; 
And  the  pleasant  sounds  they  had  loved  to  hear, 
Touch  not  the  nerves  of  the  senseless  ear. 

The  love  of  such  hearts  cannot  grow  cold, 

Their  memories  never  wax  dim  or  old  ; 

They  shrine  the  dead  in  a  sacred  urn, 

They  know  they  can  never  to  them  return  ; 

But  a  holy  trust  to  their  love  is  given, 

Gems  snatched  from  earth  are  re-set  in  heaven  ; 

Flowers  which  died  here  in  their  beauty's  prime, 

Live  there  in  endless  summer-time  ; 

And  the  dear  ones,  shrined  in  the  trustful  heart, 

They  shall  meet  again,  and  no  more  shall  part. 


A  BRIDAL  SONG. 

A  SONG  and  a  blessing  for  thee,  young  bride ! 
As  thou  goest  forth  by  thy  loved  one's  side, 
Passing  from  under  the  old  roof-tree, 
Which  long  and  kindly  has  sheltered  thee  — 
Leaving  the  home  of  thy  childhood's  hours, 
Bidding  farewell  to  its  birds  and  flowers, 
And  the  quiet  spot  where  thy  dear  ones  rest, 
With  the  green  sod  hiding  each  peaceful  breast. 

Thou  art  going  forth,  and  there  resteth  now, 

A  shadow  of  grief  on  thy  girlish  brow ; 

But  it  soon  will  pass,  for  thy  path  is  bright, 

Thy  future  is  warm  with  a  golden  light ; 

And  leaning  with  mingled  love  and  pride, 

On  him  thou  hast  chosen  to  be  thy  guide : 

Thou  lookest  forth  to  the  coming  years, 

And  a  rainbow  gleams  through  thy  gathering  tears. 


76        SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

Bless  thee,  young  bride,  for  thy  trustful  love ; 
Thou  art  going  forth  like  a  mated  dove, 
To  fold  thy  wing  in  a  new-found  nest ; 
Oh,  mayst  thou  ever  be  glad  and  blest ; 
May  the  links  that  bind  thee  be  ever  bright, 
And  thy  heart  rejoice  in  unshadowed  light ! 


A  TWILIGHT  HOUR. 

I  AM  sitting  in  the  twilight. 
The  sun  went  down  in  gloom, 
And  shadows  of  the  murky  clouds 

Are  in  my  lonely  room. 
The  fire  is  burning  dimly, 

I  would  not  have  it  bright, 

Until  the  day  be  hushed  asleep 

On  the  bosom  of  the  night. 

There  is  silence  in  my  chamber, 

A  silence  calm  and  deep, 
While  softly  round  a  little  bed 

The  dark-hued  shadows  creep ; 
They  hide  the  winsome  features 

Of  her  who  slumbers  there ; 
The  dimpled  chin,  the  rosy  cheek, 

The  soft  and  shining  hair. 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.        77 

But  from  beneath  the  covering 

One  little  hand  has  strayed, 
Which,  like  a  snowy  lily,  gleams 

Amid  the  deepening  shade. 

My  spirit  bows  to  whisper 

A  blessing  and  a  prayer 
Above  the  lovely  helpless  thing, 

Which  claims  my  tenderest  care. 
I  clasp  the  tiny  fingers, 

I  kiss  the  stainless  brow  — 
A  bird-like  voice  the  silence  breaks, 

I  am  not  lonely  now. 
Soft  arms  my  neck  are  clasping, 

Warm  lips  to  mine  are  pressed  ; 
And  the  smile  of  that  sweet  baby-face 

Makes  sunshine  in  my  breast. 


WHY  DO  WE  LOVE? 

WHY  do  we  love  the  beautiful  things 
To  which  the  heart  in  its  fondness  clings  ? 
The  golden  light  of  the  summer  hours, 
With  their  blushing  glory  of  buds  and  flowers  ; 
The  song  of  birds,  and  the  voice  of  streams, 
Which  mingle  themselves  with  our  very  dreams? 


78         SO.\'C,'S  OF  EARLY  A  XD  LATER 


Why  do  we  love  them  ?     The  summer  has  flown 
Winter  has  changed  the  streamlet's  tone; 
The  flowers  we  cherished  have  long  been  dead, 
The  last  pale  leaves  from  the  boughs  are  shed  ; 
The  birds  have  passed  to  a  fairer  clime, 
And  cold  and  drear  is  the  winter  time. 

Why  do  we  love  them  ?  Why  do  we  twine 

Our  hopes  with  things  we  must  soon  resign  ? 

Why  are  we  charmed  with  the  tone  or  grace 

Of  a  gentle  voice,  or  a  lovely  face  ? 

Why  do  we  gaze  into  loving  eyes, 

Till  we  fancy  them  brighter  than  sunlit  skies? 

Why  does  a  gentle,  fond  caress 

Yield  such  a  heart- wealth  of  happiness? 

Why,  with  such  loving  and  earnest  trust, 

Do  we  lean  onjaught  that  is  linked  with  dust? 

Why,  when  we  know  that  the  shadowy  pall 

Of  change  and  death  lies  over  all, 

And  years  pass  on  with  silent  tread 

Over  the  graves  of  our  loved  and  dead  ? 

Why?     Oh  !  the  summer  will  come  again, 
With  flowers  for  forest  and  field  and  glen  : 
The  birds  will  sing,  and  the  streams  will  flow, 
With  the  gladsome  voices  of  "  Ions'  ayo." 


OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.        79 

And  the  lost,  the  loved  for  whom  we  weep, 
They  too  shall  wake  from  their  long  cold  sleep, — 
Shall  wake  to  a  summer  of  love  and  light, 
A  summer  that  knoweth  no  change  or  blight. 
Thus  shall  the  lost  be  restored  again  : 
Therefore  our  love  is  not  wrong  or  vain.     * 


THE  YOUNGEST  BROTHER. 

•  T  HAD  rocked  him  in  his  cradle, 
-L  I  had  borne  him  in  my  arms ; 
With  all  a  sister's  love  and  pride, 

Had  marked  his  budding  charms  ; 
His  infant  steps  had  guided, 

And  taught  him  all  the  plays, 
And  sang  him  all  the  simple  songs 

Which  charmed  my  infant  days. 
I  saw  him  pass  from  childhood 

Along  youth's  sunny  ways ; 
And  life  was  like  a  pleasant  field 

Spread  out  before  his  gaze  ; 
The  light  of  early  manhood 

Had  touched  his  fair  young  face, 
And  lent  to  lip  and  cheek  and  brow 

A  new  and  noble  grace.    \ 


80        SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEAHS. 

f  Perhaps  I  gazed  too  proudly, 

Perhaps  I  loved  too  well, 
For  suddenly  on  love  and  hope 

A  fearful  blighting  fell.  / 
I  saw  that  dear  one  smitten, 

His  life  in  one  brief  hour 
Crushed  out,  as  when  a  careless  step 

Treads  down  a  cherished  flower. 
No  blight  was  on  his  beauty, 

No  mildew  of  decay ;  ) 
The  flower  was  crushed,  but  beauty  still 

Upon  the  young  leaves  lay. 
,1  bent  above  his  pillow 

When  morning's  golden  light 
Fell  o'er  him  like  an  angel's  smile, 

So  warm,  and  soft,  and  bright. 
I  kissed  the  icy  forehead 

Where  death  had  left  his  chill, 
And  those  pale  lips,  whereon  a  smile 

Was  sweetly  lingering  still. 
I  knew  his  heart  was  pulseless, 

I  knew  his  eyes  no  more 
Would  lift  their  loving  gaze  to  mine, — 

That  life  and  hope  were  o'er. 
But  even  when  they  bore  him 

To  that  last  place  of  rest, 
And  I  had  seen  the  chilly  earth 

Heaped  o'er  his  silent  breast, 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  A KD  LATER  YEARS.       81 

It  seemed  a  fearful  vision : 

I  could  not  make  it  true, 
That  they  had  hid  that  noble  form 

Forever  from  my  view. 
And  since,  alike  in  daytime, 

And  in  the  quiet  night, 
It  seems  as  if  that  bright  young  face 

Were  present  to  my  sight ; 
I  seem  to  hear  him  murmur 

The  pleasant  words  of  yore, 
And  start,  and  weep,  because  that  voice 

May  gladden  me  no  more. 
My  heart  is  wrapped  in  mourning, 

My  eyes  with  tears  are  dim, 
And  every  joyous  face  I  see 

Awakes  some  thought  of  him. 
And  when  the  winds  are  moaning 

His  lowly  bed  above, 
It  seems  so  hard  that  he  must  lie 

Shut  out  from  life  and  love ! 

They  strive  to  soothe  my  anguish 
With  words  of  hope  and  cheer ; 

They  tell  me  of  the  better  land, 
Where  I  his  voice  shall  hear. 

They  tell  me  to  look  upward, 
And  so  I  strive  to  do ; 
F 


82       SOXGS  OF  EARLY  AXD  LATER   YEARS, 

But  there 's  a  mist  before  my  eyes 

I  cannot  yet  see  through. 
I  know  the  sun  is  shining 

Behind  the  misty  cloud  ; 
I  know  it  was  not  all  of  him 

We  folded  in  the  shroud  ; 
But  the  shadow  on  my  spirit 

Is  one  no  hand  may  lift, 
Save  His  who  gives,  and  as  He  will, 

Reclaims  the  precious  gift. 


I  HAVE  FOUND  FLOWERS. 

I  HAVE  found  flowers,  wild  flowers, 
Fair  azure  things,  with  golden  hearts,  are  they  ; 
Such  as  I  gathered  in  life's  morning  hours, 
Upon  the  woody  hill-sides  far  away. 

I  do  remember  well 

The  first  I  ever  found,  —  a  tiny  thing 
That  bloomed  alone,  where  the  warm  sunshine  fell 

Upon  it  in  the  first  bright  days  of  spring. 

Charmed  with  its  beauty  then, 

My  heart  has  never  learned  to  love  it  less. 
Though  dwelling  where  the  close-built  homes  of  men 

Left  not  one  sweet  wild-flower  the  sight  to  bless. 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.        83 

A  woodland  home  once  more 

Is  mine,  and,  yesterday,  the  southern  breeze 
To  me  the  scent  of  April's  treasures  bore  : 

I  went  to  search,  and  found  unfolded  these. 


BRIGHT  WINTER  DAYS. 


beautiful  days  of  winter! 
Like  golden  links  are  they, 
Binding  the  days  which  are  coming 

With  those  which  have  passed  away. 
Bright  links,  which  clasp  together 

Memories  fair  and  bright, 
And  beautiful  hopes,  which  nestle 
In  the  future's  golden  light. 

Sunshiny  days  of  winter! 

Ye  are  beautiful  as  few,  — 
The  spring  winds  are  more  balmy, 

And  the  summer  skies  more  blue  ; 
But  a  sunny  day  in  winter 

Is  a  bright  and  precious  thing  ; 
Its  light  steals  into  one's  being, 

And  makes  the  sad  heart  sins:. 


JOY  IN  HEAVEN. 

'S  joy  in  heaven,  among  the  holy  throng, 
_L  Who  stand  forever  near  the  Saviour's  throne  ; 
A  strain  of  deeper  gladness  swells  the  song 

The  seraphs  utter ;  a  more  rapturous  tone 
Of  love  and  praise  from  golden  harps  resounds ; 

Bright  cherubs  wave  for  joy  their  glittering  wings, 
When  Mercy  bends  above  a  lost  one  found, 

A  sinner  bowed  before  the  King  of  kings, 
Mourning  the  sins  which  Slew  the  Son  of  God, 
And  seeking  pardon  through  his  precious  blood. 

Oh,  what  a  precious  thing  the  soul  must  be, 

When  angels,  seraphs,  saints  in  triumph  sing, 
When  one  from  Satan's  bondage  is  set  free, — 

When  God  esteemed  it  such  a  priceless  thing, 
That  but  the  sufferings  of  his  only  Son 

Could  save  it  from  eternal  misery, — 
When  all  that  suffering  had  been  borne  for  one, 

Had  only  one  transgressed !    How  gloriously 

84 


SOtfGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.       85 

The  plan  of  our  redemption  hath  been  wrought ! 

No  ransom  less  than  that  which  God  hath  given, 
Could,  for  one  sinful  erring  soul,  have  bought 

The  boundless  wealth  and  happiness  of  Heaven ; 
But  praise  to  God !  He  makes  it  free  to  all 
Who  will  accept  the  Spirit's  gracious  call. 


EMBALM  THE  DEAD. 

~T!  MB  ALM  the  dead  in  tears  ! 
I  J     These  are  more  precious  far  than  spice  or  oil 
Why  leave  for  after-years 

Death's  final  triumph  ?     He  will  yet  despoil 
All  that  is  mortal ;  darkness  and  decay 
Must  do  their  work  upon  the  breathless  clay. 

Embalm  the  dead  in  love ! 

There  is  no  need  of  costly  spicery  : 
Heap  the  green  turf  above 

The  silent  breast,  and  let  remembrance  be 
The  sole  embalmer,  and  the  heart  an  urn, 
Where  gentle  thoughts  of  them  shall  ever  burn. 

The  faithful  heart  retains 

More  than  Egyptian  art  hath  power  to  hold ; 


86       SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

That  keeps  the  poor  remains 

Of  what  we  loved,  pale,  motionless,  and  cold  ; 
But  memory  keepeth  warm  the  blessed  light 
Of  love,  and  smiles  and  beauty  pure  and  bright. 


JESUS. 

IN  the  thorny  desert  straying, 
On  the  lonely  mountain  praying ; 
In  the  streets  and  highways  preaching, 
Oh,  how  gracious  was  his  teaching!' 
Mysteries  of  grace  revealing, 
Healing  all  who  came  for  healing ; 
Toiling,  sorrowing,  day  by  day, 
Passed  his  mortal  years  away. 

Oft,  when  evening's  quiet  close 
Brought  the  season  of  repose, 
And  the  poorest  toiling  peasant 
Sought  his  home,,  by  love  made  pleasant, 
Jesus  trod  no  homeward  way, 
Tarrying  where  they  bade  him  stay ; 
Or,  for  want  of  welcome,  said, 
Lacking  "  where  to  lay  his  head," 
On  the  damp  and  chilly  sod 
Spent  the  hours  in  prayer  to  God. 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.        87 

Son  of  God  !  what  wondrous  love 
Brought  Thee  from  thy  throne  above  ; 
Made  thee  choose  an  humble  birth, 
Choose  to  tread  the  ways  of  earth  ? 
Human  nature  meekly  wearing, 
Every  human  sorrow  sharing ; 
Bearing  pride  and  scorn  with  meekness, 
Kindly  pitying  human  weakness  ; 
Patient  gentleness  displaying, 
Seeking  out  the  lost  and  straying ; 
Giving  even  thy  life,  to  buy 
Life  for  sinners  doomed  to  die : 
That  Redemption  might  be  free 
Unto  all  who  come  to  Thee ! 


GONE. 

GONE,  to  return  no  more ! 
Gone  from  our  midst,  so  joyous  and  so  young, 
His  heart  with  youth's  fresh  gladness  running  o'er, 

And  on  his  lips  life's  pleasant  songs  half  sung ; 
Gone  from  our  midst !  Our  hearts  will  wait  in  vain 
To  hear  his  dear  returning  step  again. 

He  went  from  us  so  strong, 

At  early  morn,  with  step  so  iirm  and  light; 


88        SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

The  noontide  saw  him  sadly  borne  along, 

O'er  the  same  paths,  and  in  the  still  calm  night, 
Unconscious  of  the  loved  ones  round  his  bed, 
The  low  faint  breathing  ceased  —  and  he  was  dead ! 

When  morning  came,  the  warm 

Glad    sunshine    through    the    shaded     casement 

gleamed, 
And  rested  softly  on  the  shrouded  form, 

And  the  pale  face,  which  looked  as  if  he  dreamed 
Some  pleasant  dream,  so  calm,  and  pure,  and  fair, 
Lay  the  young  brow  beneath  the  clustering  hair. 

We  laid  him  in  the  earth  ! 

Ah  me,  how  hard  it  was  to  lay  him  there  ! 
How  sad  to  gather  round  the  household  hearth, 

Where  he  was  not!    Oh,  brother,  young  and  fair, 
Our  hearts  are  sadly  drooping  o'er  the  grave, 
From  which  our  love  was  all  too  weak  to  save. 

He  will  return  no  more  ; 

But  we  have  laid  him  there  in  hopeful  trust, 
That  when  a  few  more  years  are  counted  o'er, 

And  we,  like  him,  have  slumbered  in  the  dust, 
We  all  shall  meet  upon  that  happier  shore, 
Whence  none  departeth,  to  return  no  more. 


THY  BROTHER  SHALL  ARISE  AGAIN. 

[John  xi.  23.] 


brother  shall  arise  again  !  " 
In  those  sweet  words  what  comfort  lies  ! 
Poor  trembling  mourner,  cease  thy  strain 
Of  anguish,  dry  thy  tear-dimmed  eyes  ; 
And  let  thy  heart's  repinings  cease  : 
For,  lo  !  the  Saviour  whispers,  "  Peace." 

A  mourner  bent  beside  a  tomb, 

And  wet  with  tears  the  hallowed  dust, 

While  in  her  bosom  thoughts  found  room, 

Which  marred  her  heavenward  hope  and  trust  ; 

She  mourned  that  one  so  young  and  brave 

Should  slumber  in  the  chilly  grave. 

"  Wrhy  must  that  manly  form  no  more 

Be  found  in  its  accustomed  place  ? 
Why  is  death's  curtain  folded  o'er 

That  generous  heart  —  that  joyous  face  ? 

8*  89 


90       SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

Why  was  a  parent's  hope  and  stay, 

So  loved  and  leaned  on,  snatched  away  ?  " 

She  wept  such  tears  as  only  flow 

From  hearts  by  bitter  anguish  torn  ; 

Beneath  affliction's  sudden  blow 

Her  very  soul  seemed  downward  borne, 

Till,  faint  and  weary  with  her  grief, 

She  looked  to  Heaven  for  relief. 

It  came :    A  whisper  low  and  calm 
Breathed  in  her  spirit's  listening  ear, 

O'er  her  bruised  heart  like  precious  balm 
Distilled,  she  felt  that  God  was  near  ; 

And  that  sweet  promise  soothed  her  pain,  — 

"  Thy  brother  shall  arise  again  !  " 


GEORGE'S  GRAVE. 

COLD  is  the  bed  where  our  darling  is  lying ; 
Coldly  the  winter-wind  sweeps  o'er  his  tomb, 
Wildly  and  sadly  a  requiem  sighing, 

O'er  him  who  died  in  his  summer's  young  bloom. 
Cold  is  the  bed  where  we  laid  him  to  slumber, 

Though  the  warm  sunshine  fell  lovingly  there, 
On  that  sad  day  we  will  ever  remember  — 
Day  when  we  buried  the  youthful  and  fair. 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.        91 

Earth  with  the  glory  of  autumn  was  glowing, 

Flowers  on  the  upland  were  lingering  still ; 
Soft,  as  in  spring-time,  the  west-wind  was  blowing, 

But  on  our  hearts  lay  a  winter-like  chill. 
Winter  has  since  spread  a  covering  o'er  him, 

Pure  as  befitteth  an  innocent  breast  ; 
Spring,  and  the  fond  ones  who  live  to  deplore  him, 

"Will  cover  with  blossoms  the  place  of  his  rest. 
Spring  !    Ah  !  the  spring-time  itself  will  be  dreary, 

Dreary,  though  laden  with  freshness  and  bloom  ; 
Dreary  to  us,  who,  sad-hearted  and  weary, 

Gather  her  treasures  to  garland  the  tomb  ! 


OUR  VALLEY. 

BEAUTIFUL !  O  beautiful  is  this  valley  home 
of  mine!  — 

The  green  fields  circled  in  by  hills  o'erhung  with 
fragrant  pine. 

A  thousand  glancing  streamlets  amid  our  meadows 
flow, 

On  whose  green  banks  bright  cowslips  and  water- 
lilies  grow ; 

The  darkest  purple  violets  are  found  among  our  dells, 

And  laurels  on  the  hill-side  spread  their  tufts  of 
scented  bells; 


92        SOXGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

The  mourning  dove  sings   softly  our  shady  woods 

among, 
Where  songs  of  lighter  cadence  by  gayer  birds  are 

sung. 

It  is  lovely,  very  lovely,  the  valley  where  we  dwell, 
Though  round  a  stranger's  heart  it  might  not  weave 

a  binding  spell : 

We  think  it  very  beautiful,  this  valley  home  of  ours, 
With  wild-bird  music,  waving  woods,  and  wealth  of 

summer  flowers : 
The  village  down  beside  the  hill,  the  church  and 

churchyard  green, 
With  white  catalpas  bending,  the  precious  dust  to 

screen. 
'Tis  lovelier  than  at  other  times,  upon  a  Sabbath 

morn, 
AVhen  summer-winds  are  singing  through  fields  of 

rustling  corn ; 
And  scent  of  blossoms  gathered,  and  wafted  by  the 

air, 
Like  unseen  incense   stealeth  through  the   sacred 

place  of  prayer. 

A  little  band  of  worshippers  then  bring  together, 

there 
The  joy  and  sadness  of  the  heart,  its  blessedness  and 

care: 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.        93 

Some  hearts  are  faint  and  weary,  and  some  with 
gladness  beat, 

But  the  same  dear  Hand  divides  to  all  the  portion 
that  is  meet. 

All  hearts  His  words  are  waiting,  whose  heart  is  with 
us  all, 

And  gently  to  the  drooping,  His  words  like  bairn- 
drops  fall : 

He  bringeth  to  the  thoughtless  a  warning  from  the 
tomb  ; 

He  bids  them  look  on  youth  decayed  in  beauty's 
early  bloom ;  — 

A  warning  or  a  blessing  for  every  soul  He  hath, 

And  kindly  pointeth  out  to  all  the  safe  and  narrow 
path. 

It  is  lovely,  very  lovely,  this  valley  home  of  ours, 

But  it  ever  wears  its  sweetest  look  in  the  holy  Sab 
bath  hours. 


A  THOUGHT  OF  DEATH. 

OH !  what  a  glorious  thing  it  must  be 
For  the  soul  to  burst  from  its  bonds  of  clay, 
Spreading  its  pinions  strong  and  free, 

To  speed  its  flight  from  this  world  away, 
Onward  and  up,  and  never  stay, 


94         SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

Till  it  enters  the  beautiful  land 
Where  never  dieth.the  light  of  day  ; 
Where  they  never  grow  weary,  or  sadly  say, 
"  I  am  sick,"  and  all  tears  are  wiped  away 

By  our  heavenly  Father's  hand. 
Oh !  happy  the  soul  that  enters  there, 
Shut  in  forever  from  pain  and  care ; 
With  a  life  before  it  of  love  and  praise, 
As  long  as  eternity's  endless  days. 

Oh !  when  I  think  of  that  glorious  place, 

And  of  those  who  have  entered  its  gates  of  rest, 

The  shadows  of  sorrow  forsake  my  face, 
My  heart  throbs  gladly  within  my  breast, 
And  fondly  I  call  my  lost  ones  blest, 

For  I  know  that  they  are  there, 

By  the  priceless  pearl  their  souls  possessed, 
While  gently  their  feet  life's  pathway  pressed, 

And  the  sky  of  youth  was  fair. 

• 

I  am  glad  to  think  they  are  gathered  in, 

Safe  from  sorrow  and  pain  and  sin  ; 

And  the  heart  that  is  lonely  since  they  are  gone, 

Is  hopefully  striving  and  struggling  on  ; 

If  still  it  sheddeth  its  human  tears, 

For  the  sorrow  that  fell  on  its  early  years  ; 

Softly  they  fall  as  the  dew  of  night, 

To  be  inhaled  by  the  morning  light  — 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.        95 

The  light  which  gleams  from  those  portals  bright 
Which  never  unfold  to  mortal  sight, 
But  over  the  soul  their  radiance  shed, 
Whenever  we  think  of  the  blessed  dead. 


ADVICE  TO  A  POET. 

POET !  if  thy  thoughts  be  bright, 
Full  of  gladness  and  of  light, 
Full  of  beauty  and  of  trust, 
Free  from  care's  corroding  rust, — 
Sing.     Thy  pleasant  thoughts  shall  be 
Bright  to  others  as  to  thee. 

If  thy  spirit  hath  been  tried, 
If  thy  brightest  hopes  have  died, 
If  thy  memory  fondly  clings 
Unto  lovely  perished  things, 
While  thy  warmest  tears  are  shed 
For  the  faithless,  or  the  dead  ;  — 
If  thy  body,  worn  with  pain, 
Seeks  the  gift  of  health  in  vain, 
While  thy  heart  with  humble  faith, 
Looking  upward,  meekly  saith, 
"  'Tis  my  Father  holds  the  rod, 
Blessed  be  the  will  of  God  ; "  — 


96        SOXGS  OF  EARLY  AX1>  LATER   YEARS. 

Poet !  sing.     Thy  songs  shall  be 
Blest  to  others  as  to  thee. 

But  if  bitter  thoughts  are  thine, 

If  around  thy  heart  entwine 

Restless  pride,  whose  haughty  aim 

Is  at  worldly  wealth  and  fame ; 

Care,  that  gnawing  at  thy  breast, 

Canker-like  destroys  thy  rest,  — 

Burning  envy,  hate,  and  scorn, 

Of  the  heart's  corruption  born,  — 

Breathe  them  not,  such  thoughts  would  be 

Dark  to  others  as  to  thee ; 

Breathe  uot  words  to  sear  and  blight, 

If  thou  suffer  wrong  and  slight : 

Let  it  not  be  breathed  in  songs, 

Which  may  long  outlive  thy  wrongs ; 

Better  silently  to  bear 

Than  to  burden  with  thy  care 

Hearts  whose  painful  sympathy 

Is  of  no  avail  to  thee. 

Sing  of  all  things  pure  and  bright, 
Things  which  gladden  and  delight: 
Sing  of  trials,  pain,  and  care, 
Sanctified  by  faith  and  prayer. 
Songs  like  these  will  blessings  bring 
Unto  those  who  hear  thee  sinjj. 


SO&GS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.       97 

Hearts  with  gladness  running  o'er, 
Gladness  unexpressed  before, 
Find  their  inward  bliss,  by  thee 
Shadowed  forth  so  truthfully, 
That  thy  spirit's  joyous  tone 
Seemeth  more  than  half  their  own  ; 
And  some  spirit,  bowed  in  dust, 
May  grow  stronger  through  thy  trust. 
Thus,  the  gift  God  gave  to  thee 
Blest  to  other  hearts  may  be. 


LAY  NOT  THY  HARP  ASIDE. 

I  AY  not  thy  harp  aside ; 
J     There  falls   sweet  music  from    its   trembling 

strings,  — 
Not  the  high  strains  of  pride, 

Not  the  gay  notes  the  heart-glad  minstrel  sings. 
Thy  spirit  hath  been  tried, 

And  grief  and  care  droop  round  thy  heart  their 

wings, 

And  fling  a  shadow  o'er  the  source  of  song, 
Which  dims,  but  darkens  not,  and  it  were  wrong. 

To  cease  from  those  sweet  lays, 

To  hush  thy  melodies  within  thy  soul, 
9  G 


98        SOA'GS  Or  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

And  in  life's  toilsome  ways, 

Pass  on,  a  victim  to  thy  self-control ; 

There  are  a  few  would  praise, 

To  whose  dull  hearts  such  music  never  stole  ; 

But  thy  heart  would  be  sadder,  didst  thou  crush 

The  thoughts  which  from  its  depths  so  freely  gush. 

Cast  not  thy  harp  away. 

The  mildew  of  neglect  will  rust  and  blight ; 
Leave  not  to  dim  decay 

The  jewel  which  may  shine  with  purer  light, 
And  sparkle  on  thy  way, 

And  throw  around  thy  name  a  halo  bright. 
Sing  on !    Thy  talent  was  not  given  to  rest 
Unused,  unpolished,  hid  within  thy  breast. 


TO  THE  MOURNING  DOVE. 

SWEET  mourning  dove,  thy  voice  to  me 
Is  sweeter  than  the  gayest  notes 
Which  warble  through  the  greenwood  tree, 

From  merry  songsters'  tuneful  throats, 
When  April  flowers  adorn  the  earth, 

And  joyous  birds  begin  to  sing, 
Above  the  early  blossom's  birth, 
Rejoicing  in  the  breath  of  spring. 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.        99 

Thy  plaintive  voice  swells  sadly  out 

From  some  sequestered  lonely  dell, 
Where  green  leaves  cluster  all  about, 

And  violet-buds  ungathered  swell ; 
And  through  the  long  warm  summer  days 

Thy  sad  unchanging  song  is  heard  — 
Oh !  can  it  be  that  sorrow  stays, 

An  inmate  of  thy  breast,  sweet  bird ! 

Or,  hast  thou  in  thy  seeming  woe 

A  heart  as  light  as  if  thy  strain 
Were  gayer  —  is  its  plaintive  flow 

A  sound  of  bliss  instead  of  pain? 
It  must  be  so,  for  thou  art  not 

A  mateless,  melancholy  thing, 
Forever  pining  o'er  thy  lot 

With  drooping  head  and  folded  wing. 
Thine  is  no  weary  song  of  grief, 

Though  mildly  pensive  is  thy  lay, 
'Midst  springing  flowers,  o'er  falling  leaf, 

In  spring-tide  or  autumnal  day. 
There  is,  methinks,  a  gentle  tone 

Of  sweet  contentment  in  thy  voice, 
Unlike  the  mourner's  funeral  moan, 

Which  lets  no  listening  heart  rejoice. 


DREAMS  OF  THE  DEAD. 

DREAMS  of  the  blessed  dead, 
How  sweetly  do  ye  come 
Around  our  dreaming  hearts,  to  shed 

Thoughts  of  their  spirit  home  ; 
Ye  fling  a  holy  light 

Upon  our  sleeping  hours, 
As  soft,  and  beautiful,  and  bright, 
As  hues  of  summer  flowers. 

Ye  wake  sad  thoughts,  but  sweet, 

Of  dear  ones  passed  from  earth  — 
Of  forms  we  never  more  may  meet 

By  social  board  or  hearth. 
Ye  bring  the  clasping  hand, 

The  smile  we  loved  so  well, 
The  winning  accents  soft  and  bland 

From  smiling  lips  that  fell. 

That  smile  has  passed  away 

With  the  light  of  earthly  love  ; 

100 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.     101 

Those  lips  now  breathe  a  holy  lay, 

With  augel  tongues  above ; 
But  oft  they  live  with  us  again, 

And  their  memories  round  us  creep, 
Like  the  winding  links  of  a  love-wrought  chain, 

In  the  visions  of  our  sleep. 

Dreams  of  the  blessed  dead, 

There  are  dreams  more  bright  by  far, 

But  none  o'er  the  soul  so  sweetly  shed, 
The  light  of  love's  fair  star. 


THE  AUTUMN-TIME. 


autumn-time  is  coming  ! 
_l_      A  glorious  time  to  me, 
When  a  mantle  of  gorgeous  colors 

Wrappeth  each  forest-tree  ; 
When  orchard  boughs  are  bending, 

And  the  golden  sunshine  plays 
With  leaves  and  fruit  as  glowing 

As  are  its  own  bright  rays  ; 
When  the  vines  upon  the  uplands 

Are  crushed  and  laden  down 
With  purple  clusters,  decking 

The  season  like  a  crown  ; 
9* 


102      SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

When  free,  wild  winds  come  singing, 

Forest  and  valley  through, 
With  a  song  so  glad  and  careless, 

I  long  to  sing  it  too  ; 
And  my  heart  springs  upward,  flinging 

Aside  all  thought  of  care, 
And  my  thoughts  like  birds  are  winging 

Away  through  the  soft  blue  air. 

Oh !  from  my  earliest  childhood 

Hath  autumn  been  to  me 
A  time  when  my  heart  grew  lighter, 

My  voice  and  step  more  free ; 
Away  through  shadowy  woodlands, 

Where  chestnut-trees  flung  down 
A  shower  of  shining  treasures, 

Of  ripe  nuts  bright  and  brown  ; 
Up  o'er  the  rugged  hill-side, 

Down  through  the  tangled  dell, 
Over  the  sun-crisp'd  meadows, 

My  footsteps  lightly  fell. 
And  my  voice  rang  out  to  echo 

]\Iy  brother's  noisy  glee  — 
The  young  glad-hearted  brothers, 

Who  trod  those  paths  with  me. 

Many  a  summer  and  autumn 
Have  passed  since  that  gay  time, 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.       103 

When  there  was  no  path  too  tiresome 

For  my  young  feet  to  climb. 
My  steps  since  then  have  wearied, 

And  faltered  along  the  way, 
Afar  from  the  pleasant  woodland 

Where  we  were  wont  to  stray. 
Through  more  than  one  bright  summer 

I  've  languished  day  by  day, 
While  the  thought  of  death  upon  me 

Like  a  misty  shadow  lay ; 
But  when  the  blessed  autumn 

Came  singing  o'er  the  earth, 
My  heart  sprang  up  to  answer, 

With  some  of  its  old-time  mirth  : 
My  spirit  then  grew  stronger, 

My  step  grew  firm  and  light, 
And  the  beauty  of  all  things  round  me 

Made  even  my  thoughts  more  bright. 

Oh  !  that  my  lips  could  utter 

The  thoughts  which  thrill  my  breast, 
When  the  glorious  autumn  sunset 

Is  smiling  along  the  West ; 
It  seems  as  a  curtain  only 

Shuts  out  from  mortal  view, 
The  land  of  immortal  beauty, 

And  its  glory  is  shining  through. 


104     SOXGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

Oh  !  that  a  voice  were  given 

To  the  thoughts  which  wake  and  die, 
Shut  up  in  a  gateless  prison, 

As  these  glorious  days  go  by. 
It  may  be  I  love  them  better, 

Because  my  infant  eyes 
First  looked  on  this  world  of  beauty 

By  the  light  of  autumnal  skies ; 
The  same  rich  light  fell  softly, 

Like  a  blessing  on  my  brow, 
When  my  heart  in  its  gladness  uttered 

The  beautiful  marriage-vow. 
And  the  autumn-time  must  ever 

Sweet  thoughts  and  memories  bring 
To  the  heart  which  gladly  nestles 

Beneath  Love's  sheltering  wing. 


ARE  YOU  YET  IN  THE  LAND  OF  THE 
LIVING? 

"VTOT  yet !  but  I  am  going  thither. 

J- 1      A  little  while  my  weary  feet  must  tread 

The  paths  of  earth,  where  mists  and  shadows  gather, 

This  valley  of  the  dying  and  the  dead  ; 
A  little  while,  and  this  rough  journey  o'er, 

Land  of  the  Living  !  I  shall  reach  thy  shore. 


SOXGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.     105 

Not  yet!  the  gloomy  waves  of  Death's- dark  river 
Are  yet  to  struggle  with ;  beyond  it  lies 

The  land  of  Life;  some  golden  sunbeams  quiver 
Athwart  the  tide,  from  those  unshadowed  skies. 

Land  of  the  Living,  where  is  no  more  night, 
I  soon  shall  hail  thy  glorious  morning-light ! 

The  foregoing  lines  were  suggested  by  the  reply  of  an  aged 
Christian,  to  one  who  told  him  that  a  friend  who  resided  at  a 
distance,  had  asked  if  he  were  yet  in  the  land  of  the  living. 
"  Tell  him,"  said  the  good  old  man,  "  that  I  am  not  there  yet, 
but  I  am  going  thither." 


MARTHA. 

SHE  moved  with  busy  dignity ;  a  look 
Of  constant  care  upon  her  thoughtful  face : 
Nor  for  a  moment  carelessly  forsook 

Her  household  duties  ;  promptly  did  she  place 
The  dainty  viands  on  her  crowded  board  ; 

Neglecting  nothing ;  — but  her  careful  heart 
Was  vexed,  that  in  preparing  for  their  Lord 

The  needful  meal,  her  sister  took  no  part. 
"  Master,"  she  said,  "  dost  thou  not  care  to  see, 

My  sister  leaveth  me  to  serve  alone  ?  " 
There  was  a  mild  rebuke,  given  solemnly, 

Yet  full  of  kindness,  in  the  earnest  tone 


106      SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

Of  his  reply.     "  Thou,  Martha !  careful  art 

For  many  things,  whose  care  doth  trouble  thee  ; 

But  Mary  hath  preferr'd  the  better  part, 

"Which  taken  from  her  never  more  shall  be  ! " 


LITTLE  JANE. 

SEVEN  times  April's  sun  and  showers 
Have  awaked  the  early  flowers  ; 
Seven  times  waked  the  grass  to  wave 
Over  little  Janie's  grave  ; 
Seven  times,  summer,  blossom-crowned, 
Scattered  roses  o'er  the  mound  ; 
Seven  times  autumn  breathed  his  sighs, 
Where  our  darling  buried  lies ; 
Seven  times  winter's  shroud  been  spread 
Over  her  little  lowly  bed. 

But  what  times,  and  times  untold, 
We  have  missed  her  from  the  fold ! 
Feeble  lamb,  whom  God  in  love 
Gathered  to  the  fold  above. 
We  have  tried  our  grief  to  quell, 
Softly  murmuring,  "  It  is  well ; " 
Yet,  for  her  our  hearts  will  yearn, 
And  our  thoughts  will  often  turn 


» 

SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.     107 

From  the  little  ones  at  play, 
To  the  one  that  is  away  ; 
Fancying  how  she  would  have  grown, 
Had  she  been  with  us  till  now ; 
Thinking  she  is  still  our  own, 
Though  upon  her  baby  brow 
Heaven's  eternal  glory  lies  ; 
Thinking  of  her  violet  eyes  — 
Eyes  whose  light  we  loved  so  dearly, 
Eyes  which  closed  on  earth  so  early, 
Eyes  whose  tears  are  wiped  away  ;  — 
With  this  thought  our  hearts  can  say : 
"  It  is  well.     Beloved  and  blessed  ! 
God  hath  given  our  darling  rest." 


THE  RESURRECTION  OF  CHRIST. 


blessed  sunshine  of  the  Sabbath  morn 
.  JL      Had  not  yet  risen  upon  Judea's  land, 
When  rose  to  pray,  with  hearts  oppressed  and  worn, 

Yet  full  of  humble  faith,  a  little  band 
Of  holy  men.     There  was  one  lacking  there  ; 

He  who  had  knelt  with  them  from  day  to  day, 
Who  taught  their  lips  to  breathe  the  hallowed  prayer, 

Which  now  with  sorrowing  hearts  they  bent  to  say. 


108     SOXGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

And  where  was  He  —  their  Master  ?    He  had  gone 

Down  to  the  quiet  chambers  of  the  dead, 
And  gloom  and  silence  wrapped,  and  rested  on 

His  form  majestic,  and  his  princely  head. 
Now  the  third  day  was  dawning:  knew  they  not 

That  on  that  day  their  prophet  should  arise, 
Had  they  so  soon  his  promises  forgot? 

Alas !  the  veil  was  yet  upon  their  eyes. 

A  step  was  on  the  threshold,  and  a  cry 

Of  sudden  gladness  on  their  senses  burst ; 
And  Mary,  flushed  and  faint  with  haste  and  joy, 

Stood  in  their  midst.     Her  feet  had  been  the  first 
To  seek  the  tomb  wherein  her  Saviour  lay. 

She  told,  and  they  who  heard  were  mute  with  awe, 
How  she  had  found  the  "  great  stone  rolled  away," 

And  angels  watching  there ;  and  how  she  saw, 
And  spoke  with  him  she  sought,  and  mourned  as  dead, 

When  she  turned  sorrowing  from  the  empty  tomb. 
Yet  doubted  they,  till  Jesus  came  and  said : 

"  My  peace  be  with  you,"  and  dispelled  the  gloom 
Which  grief  had  gathered  round  them  ;  then  they  gave 

Praise  to  his  name  who  won  the  victory 
O'er  death  and  hell,  and  triumphed  o'er  the  grave, 

Whose  praise  shall  sound  throughout  Eternity. 


COMFORT  IN  SORROW. 

TPHERE  comes  to  me  at  times  a  thought  of  heaven, 
JL      A  thought  too  glorious  to  be  expressed ; 
And  I  have  thought  that  it  was  kindly  given, 

To  soothe  the  grief  and  anguish  of  my  breast, 
When  I  have  thought  too  mournfully  of  some, 

Who  have  gone  up  to  their  eternal  rest, 
And  reason  was  too  weak  alone  to  stem 

The  tide  of  natural  sorrow  which  oppressed 
My  drooping  spirit.     Oh  !  it  is  a  thought 

Which  overflows  with  comfort  and  delight 
My  heart  and  mind :  it  is  a  vision  fraught 

With  loveliness  celestial,  glory  bright, 
And  bliss  immortal ;  there  are  harps  of  gold, 

And  palms  of  victory,  and  robes  of  white, 
And  seraph  forms  more  radiant  to  behold 

Than  are  the  planets  which  illume  our  night. 

And  they  are  there,  amid  that  saintly  band  ! 

That  thought  has  dried  the  tears  which  sorrow  shed, 
10  109 


110     SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

And  left  a  yearning  for  that  blessed  land, 
To  which  my  cherished  ones  so  early  fled,  — 

And  Faith  and  Hope  seem  reaching  out  their  hands, 
To  lead  me  thither,  and  my  heart  hath  grown 

Calm  in  its  sadness  ;  while  life's  wasting  sands 
Do  promise  rest  ere  many  years  be  flown. 


TO  MY  SISTER. 

THE  summer-time  is  coming 
With  blossoms  fresh  and  fair ; 
The  music  of  the  happy  birds 

Rings  sweetly  on  the  air; 
The  earth  is  very  beautiful, 

The  winds  are  soft  and  free : 
But  my  heart  can  have  no  surnmer-time, 
Away  from  home  and  thee. 

My  steps  have  been  upon  the  hills, 

And  down  beside  the  brook, 
Where  violets  are  clustering 

In  many  a  grassy  nook  ; 
I  Ve  rambled  at  the  evening  hour 

Beneath  the  cloudless  skies, 
When  silvery  stars  look  down  on  earth 

Like  angels'  holy  eyes. 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.      Ill 

The  thoughts  which  came  upon  me  then 

I  did  not  dare  to  speak, 
For  there  was  sadness  at  my  heart, 

Though  smiles  were  on  my  cheek. 

Oh  !  sweetly  dawns  the  summer-time, 

And  beautiful  is  earth, 
For  nature  holds  a  festival 

With  music  and  with  mirth ; 
The  birds  have  built  their  leafy  nests, 

And  gladly  hums  the  bee ; 
But  a  weary  heart  is  in  my  breast, 

It  pines  for  home  and  thee. 


A  SPRING  MELODY. 

I  HAVE  heard  the  gentle  voice  of  Spring  — 
She  hath  come  to  her  old-time  haunts, 
And  hillsides  echo,  and  valleys  ring 
With  the  happy  notes  which  she  loves  to  sing, 
O'er  the  birth  of  the  first  young  plants. 

The  bare  trees  rustle  their  branches  gay, 

As  they  hear  her  pass  along ; 
The  blackbird  tuneth  his  joyous  lay, 
And  streamlets  leap  on  their  seaward  way, 

With  a  burst  of  merry  song. 


112     SOX  US  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

Spring  hath  come  to  our  land  again, 

And  she  roameth  wild  and  free  ; 
She  stealeth  away  through  the  shadowy  glen, 
Or  visiteth  kindly  the  homes  of  men, 
With  her  smiles  and  minstrelsy. 

Spring  hath  come ;  but  she  sheddeth  tears 

O'er  many  a  new-made  grave : 
Of  those  she  smiled  on  in  other  years  — 
Over  their  bosoms  the  young  grass  peers, 

And  the  earliest  flowers  shall  wave. 

Spring  hath  come,  and  her  smile  is  ours, 
And  her  promise  of  lovely  things ; 

The  soft  sunshine,  and  the  fragrant  showers  ; 

But  who  shall  gather  the  latest  flowers 
Which  the  beautiful  Sibyl  brings  ? 

We  know  that  her  smile  is  upon  us  now  ; 

But  what  of  her  parting  lay  ? 
Ah !  that  may  be  of  the  smiling  brow, 
And  the  blooming  cheek  in  dust  laid  low 

By  the  touch  of  .swift  decay. 


TO  ANNIE. 

WHEN  the  light  of  the  long  bright  summer  day 
In  crimson  blushes  melts  away  ; 
When  stars  gleam  out  with  their  eyes  of  love, 
From  the  distant  blue  of  the  world  above  ; 
When  the  birds  have  folded  their  pinions  up, 
And  the  wild-bee  sleeps  in  the  lily's  cup ; 
When  your  heart  is  thinking  of  other  times, 
And  the  voice  of  friends  like  the  gentle  chimes 
Of  distant  bells  o'er  your  memory  steals, 
And  the  yearning  love  of  your  heart  reveals, — 
Will  you  think  of  me? 

I  ask  it  not ;  there  are  friends  more  near, 
Whom  tenderest  ties  have  made  more  dear ;  — 
I  ask  it  not ;  my  path  may  lie 
Far  from  the  light  of  your  smiling  eye, 
Or  I  may  rest  where,  it  matters  not, 
If  I  am  remembered,  or  quite  forgot  ; 
But  I  know,  when  your  eye  on  the  page  shall  rest, 
Where  linger  the  thoughts  of  a  faithful  breast, 
10*  II  us 


114      SOXGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

Whatever  my  fate  may  be,  or  where 
I  dwell,  the  name  that  is  written  there 
You  will  breathe,  it  may  be  tenderly, 
And  wake  from  the  urn  of  memory 
Some  thought  of  me ! 


THE  PATCHWORK  QUILT. 

I  WAS  sitting  in  my  chamber 
With  my  baby  on  my  knee, 
And  the  music  of  an  olden  tune 

Was  humming  dreamily. 
I  idly  glanced  toward  my  bed, 

A  patchwork  quilt  was  there, 
The  work  of  girlhood's  early  days, 

Arranged  with  skilful  care ; 
The  tears  came  gushing  to  my  eyes, 

Their  course  I  could  not  stay, 
While  many  a  mile  my  heart  went  back 

Along  life's  devious  way. 

That  quilt  is  made  of  memories 

Which  with  my  growth  have  grown, 

Each  piece  is  part  of  garment  worn 
By  some  one  I  have  known : 


SON  OS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.      115 

What  tales  of  love  and  joy  and  grief 
Are  with  the  whole  inwrought ! 

What  portraits,  and  what  histories, 
Come  crowding  to  my  thought ! 

That  azure  robed  my  mother's  form, 

When  I  was  but  a  child ; 
Oh,  how  it  brings  my  mother's  face 

Before  me,  calm  and  mild ! 
Her  soft  dark  eyes,  her  raven  hair, 

Her  forehead  meek  and  fair, 
Where  even  in  her  brightest  hours 

There  lay  a  shade  of  care. 
Years  changed  the  raven  locks  to  gray, 

Her  fair  brow  grew  more  pale, 
And  so  she  faded  from  our  sight, 

And  went  "  within  the  veil." 

And  here  are  scraps  of  infant  robes 

A  darling  brother  wore, — 
The  brave  bright  boy,  who  died  so  young ; 

But  I  can  sing  no  more ;  — 
All  brighter  memories  are  dimmed 

With  tears  my  eyes  must  shed, 
And  that  old  quilt  has  filled  my  heart 

With  yearnings  for  the  dead. 


NEVA. 

WE  met  as  strangers  —  little  more 
Than  strangers  are  we  yet ; 
But  still  it  is  a  joy  to  me 

That  even  thus  we  met. 
I  looked  upon  her  as  I  would 

Have  looked  on  bird  or  flower, 
Whose  beauty  charmed  my  mournful  mood 

With  sweet  resistless  power. 
Her  motions  were  so  full  of  grace, 

So  charming  all  her  ways, 
The  modest  beauty  of  her  face 

One  half 'forgot  to  praise. 
A  few  brief  days  she  charmed  my  sight, 

And  o'er  my  spirit  shed 
A  ray  of  calm  delicious  light, 

Which  with  her  presence  fled. 
We  meet  no  more,  but  even  yet 

My  heart  is  glad  we  ever  met. 

no 


MARY  LEA. 

I  MET  in  girlhood's  early  hours 
A  being  young  and  bright ; 
Her  eyes  were  like  pale  azure  flowers, 
Just  waked  by  heaven's  warm  light ; 
And  o'er  her  forehead  meek  and  fair 
Like  sunshine  lay  her  golden  hair. 

Her  step  was  free,  her  heart  was  light, 

As  youthful  hearts  should  be  ; 
There  never  was  a  day  or  night 

Wherein  she  could  not  see 
Some  glimmering  star,  some  rainbow  warm, 
To  gild  the  darkness  or  the  storm. 

I  've  never  seen  another  face 

Which  seemed  so  fair  to  me, 
So  full  of  girlish  loveliness 

And  stainless  purity ; 
And  later  years  have  lent  but  few, 
To  call  me  friend,  with  heart  so  true. 

117 


118     SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

Since  last  I  saw  her,  years  have  flown, 

And  then  she  was  a  bride, 
And  he  who  claimed  her  for  his  own 

"Walked  proudly  by  her  side ; 
I  wondered  not  that  he  should  wear 
With  pride,  a  gem  so  pure  and  fair. 

They  tell  me  that  a  change  has  passed, 
Her  cheek  has  lost  its  bloom, 

And  o'er  her  gladness  has  been  cast 
A  shadow  from  the  tomb, 

Where  she  has  laid  from  off  her  breast 

Two  babes  —  her  only  ones  —  to  rest. 

I  know  that  she  is  lovely  still, 
Though  changed  her  beauty  be, 

And  years  and  grief  will  never  chill 
Her  early  love  for  me ; 

And  if  her  step  be  weak  and  slow, 

And  if  her  voice  be  faint  and  low, 

Ere  long  the  angels  will  unbar 
The  gates  of  that  bright  land, 

Wherein  her  heart's  sweet  treasures  are, 
And  with  the  angel-band 

Around  the  throne,  shall  henceforth  be 

An  earth-born  angel  —  Mary  Lea  ! 


ANNIE'S  MINIATURE. 

I  TOUCHED  the  spring,  not  guessing 
What  face  should  greet  iny  eyes : 
I  gazed  upon  those  features 
With  sorrowful  surprise  ; 
And  memories  came  thronging 

Like  shadows  o'er  my  heart,  — 
The  memories  of  pleasant  scenes 
In  which  she  bore  a  part. 

I  thought  how  I  had  loved  her, 

When  life  to  her  was  new  " 
When  to  my  heart  her  childish  love 

Was  welcome  as  the  dew ; 
And  of  that  cold  estrangement, 

A  tide  we  could  not  stay, 
Which  swept,  and  kept,  our  hearts  apart, 

Through  many  a  weary  day. 

119 


120     SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

I  thought  of  our  last  meeting, 

When  first  my  spirit  bowed 
Beneath  the  heavy  grief,  which  since- 

Has  wrapped  it  like  a  shroud  ; 
I  felt  a  warm  hand's  clasping, 

I  looked  through  blinding  tears ; 
And  for  a  moment  each  forgot 

The  coldness  kept  for  years. 

That  girlish  form  one  moment 

Was  folded  to  my  breast, 
The  lips  I  had  so  often  kissed 

To  mine  were  warmly  pressed  ; 
And  then,  and  there,  we  parted 

To  meet  agnin  no  more 
Till  I  shall  finish  treading 

The  path  she  hastened  o'er. 

She  is  sleeping  in  the  shadow 

Of  the  tree  which  shadows  him  ; 
For  whose  dear  sake  her  eyes  and  mine, 

That  mournful  day,  were  dim  ; 
And  her  memory  is  dearer 

For  the  tears  I  saw  her  shed, 
When  I  in  bitter  agony 

Was  mourning  for  the  dead. 


THE  RAINBOW  AT  NIGHT.* 

THE  angels  built  their  bridge  last  night 
Of  the  pale  moon's  transparent  beams, 
And  back  and  forth,  in  mystic  flight, 

Passed  o'er  the  unseen  streams. 
We  could  not  see  them  as  they  passed, 

Their  noiseless  steps  we  could  not  hear, 
But  while  we  watched  the  silvery  arch, 
We  knew  that  they  were  near. 

We  knew  not  what  their  errands  were, 

Knew  not  if  life  or  death  they  brought, 
Or  only  bore  to  minds,  with  care 

Oppressed,  release  from  thought. 
Whate'er  their  task,  'twas  quickly  wrought, 

The  white  bridge  faded  from  our  sight, 
And  looking  upward,  we  saw  nought 

But  moon  and  stars'  soft  light. 

*  It  is  an  old  superstition,  that  the  rainbow  is  a  bridge 
built  by  the  angels,  over  which  they  pass  from  heaven  to 
earth. 

11  121 


LILIAS  AND  I. 

T  ILIAS  is  a  lady  fair, 

JLJ     Oh,  how  fair  she  is  to  me  ! 

With  her  soft  brown  silky  hair, 

Lips  whose  bloom  might  tempt  the  bee, 
And  a  pure,  sweet  face  which  glows 
Like  a  fresh  but  pale-hued  rose. 

Her  small  hands  are  soft  and  white, 

Never  labor-soiled  or  sore, 
Yet  some  graceful  task  and  light 

They  are  daily  busied  o'er ; 
I  am  glad  that  hands  so  fair 

Need  no  heavier  labor  share. 

What  if  ruder  tasks  are  mine,  — 
What  if  none  can  call  me  fair, — 

Shall  my  foolish  heart  repine? 

Nay,  though  oft  with  toil  and  care 

Burdened,  it  is  good  to  be 

Where,  and  as,  God  willeth  me. 

122 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.     123 

Sometimes  this  vain  heart  has  thought 
Proudly  what  I  might  have  been ; 

Now  by  wisdom  better  taught, 
It  rejects  the  thought  as  sin  ; 

For  to  every  one  his  lot 

Giveth  God,  who  erreth  not. 

He  hath  given  me  a  heart 

Full  of  warm  and  tender  thought ; 

And  I  give  to  Lilias  part  — 

Give  what  gold  could  not  have  bought, 

To  the  soul  whose  thoughts  I  trace 

On  that  fair  and  gentle  face. 

What  if  Lilias  do  not  prize 

Such  an  humble  offering  ; 
Neither  do  the  glowing  skies, 

Flowers  that  bloom,  and  birds  that  sing : 
Yet  I  wish  not  to  recall 
Love  that 's  freely  poured  on  all. 

And  if  Lilias  love  not  me, 

'T  will  be  nothing  strange  or  new,  — 
Precious  though  her  love  would  be, 

For  this  heart  has  found  but  few 
"Where  its  loving  thoughts  might  fall, 
Knowing  they  were  treasured,  all. 


TO  MY  BEREAVED  BROTHER. 

MY  heart  is  sad,  my  brother ! 
How  sad  I  cannot  tell, 
When  I  think  of  the  shadow  lying 

Where  sunshine  lately  fell ; 
When  I  think  of  the  sweet  spring  music, 
Changed  to  the  funeral  knell. 

Into  my  soul,  dear  brother ! 

Thy  sorrow  has  entered  deep ; 
With  my  children  playing  round  me, 

I  cannot  help  but  weep,  — 
When  I  think  of  the  pale  young  mother, 

And  her  fair  babes  lying  asleep  ; 

Asleep,  with  the  young  grass  springing 

Over  each  quiet  breast ; 
I  do  not  weep  when  the  weary 

And  care-worn  are  laid  to  rest ; 

124 


SOXGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.      125 

But,  oh  !  it  is  sad  when  the  mated  dove 
Is  torn  from  a  pleasant  nest  ! 

Sad,  when  the  household  treasures 

And  hopes  are  snatched  away, 
When,  instead  of  joyous  faces, 

We  see  the  upturned  clay, 
With  the  grass-blades  struggling  through  it 

Up  to  the  light  of  day  ! 

This  is  a  weak  heart's  moaning  — 

Too  weak  to  comfort  thine  ; 
Thy  fervent  faith  upspringeth 

On  stronger  wing  than  mine, 
While  thy  lips  are  meekly  kissing 

The  hand  that  prunes  the  vine. 


this  I  am  glad,  my  brother! 

Glad  even  while  I  mourn, 
For  I  know  thy  sweet  submission 

Will  meet  a  rich  return, 
And  the  balm  of  consolation 

Will  fill  life's  emptied  urn. 

Up  to  that  lonely  chamber 
My  sad  thoughts  follow  thee  ; 

I  know  how  thy  heart  will  miss  her, 
Whose  presence  used  to  be 

Thy  household  light  —  how  it  will  yearn 
For  the  face  thou  may'st  not  see. 
11* 


126     SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

I  know  that  of  all  the  voices 

Which  daily  greet  thine  ear, 
There  is  none  will  thrill  thy  bosom 

'(Though  friends  be  near  and  dear) 
Like  hers,  whose  joyous  carol 

Thou  never  on  earth  may'st  hear. 

But  a  higher,  holier  presence 

In  that  quiet  room  will  be ; 
And  He  who  walked  upon  the  waves 

Of  stormy  Galilee, 
Over  the  swelling  waters 

Of  thy  grief  will  come  to  thee, 
With  the  sweet  and  faithful  promise, 

"  As  thy  day  thy  strength  shall  be." 


AMONG  STRANGERS. 

I  BO  WED  within  the  house  of  prayer, 
Unknowing  and  unknown ; 
I  think,  of  all  who  worshipped  there, 

I  felt  the  most  alone ; 
No  other  craved  so  earnestly 
The  boon  of  Christian  sympathy. 

Bright  eyes  looked  carelessly  on  me, 
And  eyes  familiar  sought ; 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.      127 

My  heart  throbbed  still  more  painfully 

For  every  glance  I  caught ; 
A  tide  of  sadness  o'er  me  swept, 
And  —  it  was  weakness  —  but  I  wept. 

Not  freely,  as  I  could  have  wept, 
Could  none  have  marked  my  grief; 

My  trembling  eyelids  crushed  the  tears 
Which  brought  me  no  relief; 

And  while  my  eyes  were  moist  and  dim, 

The  choir  commenced  the  morning-hymn  : 

"  My  Shepherd  will  supply  my  need, 

Jehovah  is  his  name ; "  — 
How  sweetly  to  my  troubled  soul 

The  blest  assurance  came ; 
Jehovah,  present  everywhere, 
Beholds  with  pitying  eye,  my  care. 

The  thought  of  by-gone  Sabbath  hours, 

Of  kindred  far  away, 
Became  less  painful,  though  the  tears 

Still  strove  to  force  their  way, 
While  that  sweet  song  of  Zion  stole 
Like  healing  balsam  to  my  soul. 


CHRISTMAS  MORNING. 

THE  wind  is  out  on  the  prairie, 
The  snow  is  falling  fast, 
And  our  frail,  unsheltered  dwelling 

Is  trembling  in  the  blast. 
I  wake  in  the  early  morning, 

Long  ere  the  break  of  day,  — 
Wake,  to  watch  for  the  dawning, 
And  think  and  weep  and  pray. 

I  think  of  the  friends  who  love  me, 

Ah,  me !  Jjow  much  I  miss 
My  father  and  brother's  greeting, 

My  mother  and  sister's  kiss. 
I  think  of  the  love  they  lavished 

On  me,  through  many  a  year ; 
And  I  know,  though  we  are  parted, 

That  their  hearts  are  with  me  here. 

I  weep :  ah  !  who  can  blame  me 
For  shedding  a  few  warm  tears  ? 

While  I  lean  my  aching  forehead 
On  the  grave  of  the  buried  years. 

128 


SOATGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER   YKAtiS.      129 

I  know,  in  my  father's  dwelling 
Some  friends  to-day  will  meet, 

But,  ah  !  the  family  circle 
Is  broken  and  incomplete. 

I  know  there  are  voices  will  falter, 

I  know  there  are  eyes  will  weep, 
For  the  sake  of  the  one  that  is  absent, 

And  one  who  has  gone  to  sleep. 
But  the  love  of  the  great  All-Father 

Girdles  us  one  and  all, 
And  our  hearts  are  nearer  together 

Than  many  who  crowd  one  hall. 


THE  MORNING  BREEZE. 

IN  from  the  dewy  meadows, 
In  from  the  blossoming  trees, 
In  from  the  sparkling  waters, 

Cometh  the  morning  breeze  ; 
Bearing  the  odor  of  blossoms, 
The  songs  of  bird  and  bee  ; 
Light-winged,  but  heavily  laden, 
Cometh  the  breeze  to  me. 

Breeze  of  the  summer  morning, 
Thou  bearest  my  thoughts  away 
I 


130     SOJVG3  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER   YEARS. 

Back  to  life's  early  dawning, 
To  childhood's  joyous  May,  — 

To  fields  all  ruddy  with  clover, 
To  orchards  heaped  with  bloom, 

Where  the  dreamy  air  was  burdened 
With  music  and  sweet  perfume  ;  — 

To  springs  from  the  hill-side  gushing, 

To  banks  where  the  laurel  grew, 
To  meadows  abounding  in  rushes 

And  violets  of  every  hue ; 
In  fancy  my  feet  are  pressing 

The  paths  where  I  used  to  stray, 
And  years  with  their  weary  lessons 

Are  swept  for  the  time  away. 

Oh,  breeze !  it  is  but  for  a  moment, 

The  vision  has  vanished  now, 
But  the  touch  of  thy  dewy  pinions 

Is  soft  to  my  aching  brow ; 
And  the  odor  which  floats  from  the  lil 

And  that  by  the  balm-tree  shed, 
Steals  into  my  heart  like  a  blessing 

Sent  back  from  the  years  long  fled. 


THE  NAMELESS  GRAVE. 

I  LINGERED,  one  bright  Sabbath  day,    . 
Within  a  churchyard's  sacred  bound, 
To  read  on  tombstones  old  and  gray 

Their  names  who  slept  beneath  the  ground. 
I  read  of  some  who  passed  away 

In  early  youth's  delicious  bloom, 
And  some  who  deemed  it  rest  to  lay 
Their  tottering  limbs  within  the  tomb. 

But  there  was  one,  a  nameless  grave, 

That  touched  me  more  than  all  beside,  — 
No  lettered  stone  the  history  gave, 

Of  how  or  when  the  sleeper  died  ; 
I  knew  not  who  was  buried  there, 

But  felt  that  it  was  precious  dust,  — 
That  there  were  some  that  name  to  wear, 

With  quenchless  love  and  patient  trust, 
For  o'er  the  spot  a  sweetbrier  spread 

A  shade  of  scented  leaves  and  flowers, 
Whence  softly  on  the  grassy  bed 

The  dewdrops  fell  in  fragrant  showers. 

131 


132      SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

It  was  a  pleasant  thought  to  set 

So'sweet  a  thing  to  blossom  there, 
Which  sheddeth,  when  its  leaves  are  wet, 

Such  balmy  odors  on  the  air ! 
The  willow  and  the  cypress-tree 

A  hue  of  deeper  sadness  wear, 
But  that  sweet  shrub  appears  to  me 

Remembrance,  linked  with  hopeful  prayer. 


MOTHER. 

OH,  mother,  how  we  miss  thee ! 
We  miss  theeiiight  and  day, 
We  miss  the  loving  smile  that  beamed 

Like  sunlight  on  our  way  ; 
Thy  words  of  kind  approval, 

The  tender  anxious  care, 
Which  ever  girdled  us  at  home, 
And  reached"  us  everywhere. 

That  tender  care,  my  mother, 

How  well  thy  daughter  knew, 
Who  left  thee  for  a  distant  home, 

When  thy  sad  days  were  few ! 
How  many  a  loving  message 

Flowed  from  thy  heart  to  me, 
While  in  that  far  off  stranger  land 

I  lingered  wearilv. 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.      133 

And.  when  my  bright-eyed  baby 

Upon  my  bosom  smiled, 
Oh,  how  I  wished  my  mother's  eyes 

Could  look  upon  my  child  ! 
And  I  prayed  our  heavenly  Father, 

If  so  his  will  might  be, 
To  let  me  go  and  lay  my  babe 

Upon  my  mother's  knee. 

'Twas  not  His  will,  dear  mother! 

For  mournfully,  to-day, 
I  am  sitting  in  thy  chamber, 

And  thou,  thou  art  away. 
The  room  is  all  unaltered, 

But  what  a  change  is  this,  — 
I  came  into  my  mother's  room, 

And  met  no  welcome  kiss. 

My  heart  is  yearning,  mother, 

Is  yearning,  but  in  vain, 
To  lay  my  head  upon  thy  breast, 

And  hear  thy  voice  again  ; 
To  meet  thy  dark  eyes'  radiant  light 

Turned  lovingly  on  me,  — 
Alas!  alas!  my  mother! 

That  this  may  never  be ! 

They  told  .me,  gentle  mother, 
Where  thy  pale  form  was  laid, 
12 


134      SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

And  thither  in  the  morning  light 
My  trembling  footsteps  strayed  ; 

Already  o'er  thy  silent  breast 
Spring's  early  "offerings  bloom  : 

Alas !  alas !  my  mother ! 
I  came  to  greet  —  thy  tomb. 


MY  EARLY  HOME. 

OH,  the  flowers,  the  beautiful  flowers, 
Which  garnished  the  home  of  my  childhood's 

hours : 

Crimson  roses,  and  lilies  white, 
Four-o'clocks,  with  their  blossoms  bright ; 
Morning-glories  of  varied  hue, 
Purple  and  pink,  and  delicate  blue ; 
And  violets  sweet,  whose  dewy  eyes 
Had  borrowed  the  hue  of  the  April  skies. 

vThere  was  an  orchard,  with  clouds  of  bloom, 
A  clover-field  breathing  rich  perfume  ; 
And  just  beyond,  the  forest  dim, 
Where  the  wild  winds  chanted  their  solemn  hymn, 
And  glad  birds  sang,  and  squirrels  played, 
Fearless  and  free  in  the  quiet  shade. 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.      135 

From  rugged  uplands  far  away  — 
Farther  than  childish  feet  might  stray  — 
A  little  streamlet  danced  along, 
Singing  a  wild  and  pleasant  song ; 
Through  the  meadows,  around  the  hill, 
Away  to  the  stream  that  turned  the  mill, 
The  brook  kept  ever  upon  its  way, 
Joyous  and  bright  as  a  child  at  play. 

Happy  and  bright  were  the  summer  hours 
Passed  in  the  midst  of  those  woodland  bowers ; 
Pleasant  and  bright  is  their  memory  still, 
It  sweeps  through  my  heart  with  a  sudden  thrill, 
Like  the  startling  rush  of  a  wild-bird's  wing, 
Like  the  bursting  forth  of  a  hidden  spring ; 

And  the  present  hour,  with  its  hopes  and  fears  — 
The  lessons  and  trials  of  recent  years  — 
Are  gone,  and  my  childish  days  come  back : 
I  arn  walking  again  in  some  well-known  track, 
Lingering  by  mossy  bank  or  spring, 
Singing  some  song  which  I  used  to  sing, 
Or  dreaming  over  the  early  dreams, 
Which  long  ago  yielded  to  graver  themes. 

A  little  while,  and  my  heart  awakes, 
Like  rested  pilgrim,  who,  rising,  takes 


136     SOXGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

His  burden  up  and  goes  his  way, 
Strengthened  to  travel  another  day, 
And  weaves  his  thoughts,  as  he  walks  along, 
Into  a  pleasant  and  cheerful  song. 

Looking  back  from  life's  dusty  ways, 
Toward  the  home  of  my  early  days, 
I  bless  His  love  who  placed  me  there, 
Away  from  the  great  world's  bustle  and  care, — 
In  the  "  pastures  green,"  by  the  waters  bright, 
Till  my  soul  was  filled  with  the  beauty  and  light 
Of  the  fair  green  earth  and  glowing  skies, 
A  light  and  a  beauty  which  never  dies. 


HALF-WAY  HOME. 

MANY  and  many  a  time 
My  soul  has  grown  tired  of  the  "  battle  of 

life," 

Tired  of  the  burden,  and  tired  of  the  strife, 
And  I  longed  to  lay  the  burden  down  :  ^ 

Spirit  and  frame  cried  out  for  rest  — 
But  a  far-off  glimpse  of  a  golden  crown 

And  stainless  robes,  revived  my  breast, 
And  the  promise  of  God  hath  solaced  me,  — 
"  As  thy  day  is,  so  thy  strength  shall  be." 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.      137 

Half  of  the  journey  is  past, 

Half  of  the  "  three-score  years  and  ten  ; " 
The  shadows  begin  to  lengthen  fast : 

And  it  seemeth  long  since  the  morning,  when 
My  step  was  lighter  than  it  is  now, 
When  there  was  not  a  care-line  upon  my  brow, 
Nor  a  silver  thread  my  locks  among,  — 
It  was  long  ago  —  I  am  no  more  young. 

I  have  known  sorrow  and  care  : 

Days  I  have  seen  when  the  "light  was  dim  : 
Nights,  when  my  soul,  through  a  thicker  gloom 

Than  midnight  darkness,  cried  to  Him 
Who  heareth  always.     Youth's  warm  bloom 

Is  past,  and  I  would  not  now  recall 
The  happiest  day  I  ever  knew,  — 

Each  cup  of  bliss  had  a  dash  of  gall ; 
And  for  every  trial  I  've  struggled  through 

There  lies  one  less  'twixt  me  and  the  last  : 

After  a  while  they  will  all  be  past. 

Time  knoweth  no  delay  : 
Morning  has  deepened  into  noon  ; 
The  noonday  hour  will  have  vanished  soon.; 
But  I  am  treading  the  homeward  way,  — 
The  path  may  be  rough,  and  dark  the  day, 
But,  with  my  Father's  house  in  sight, 
At  evening  time  there  shall  be  light 
12* 


,~ 


TO  LITTLE  ETTIE'S  PARENTS. 

HAS  it  drooped  — the  tender  blossom 
Cherished  with  such  loving  pride  ? 
Has  the  lamb,  which  in  your  bosoms 
You  have  nursed  so  fondly,  died? 
Nay  !  the  flower  is  but  transplanted 

To  a  fairer  bower  above ; 
Nay !  the  little  lamb  was  wanted 
In  the  Shepherd's  fold  of  love. 

Never  say  your  flower  has  faded,  — 

Never  say  your  darling  died,  — 
Though  your  household  light  is  shaded, 

Though  your  hearts  are  sorely  tried. 
You  may  yet  have  days  of  mourning ; 

Never  sigh  shall  heave  her  breast, 
While  she  waiteth  for  your  coming, 

In  a  home  of  peace  and  rest. 

She  was  lovely,  and  you  loved  her ; 
There  is  One  who  loved  her  more. 

138 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.     139 

Heaven-bound  pilgrims!  can  you  murmur 

That  your  child  has  gone  before  ? 
Did  you  not  in  rite  baptismal 

Give  the  little  one  to  God? 
Prayed  ye  not  that  He  would  lead  her 

In  the  way  her  Saviour  trod  ? 
Lo !  your  prayer  is  more  than  answered, 

Rugged  paths  did  Jesus  tread ; 
But  He  took  her  to  his  bosom 

While  you  prayed  she  might  be  led. 

Ye  had  asked  for  grace  to  guide  her, 

Xow  she  needeth  not  your  care, 
Dwelling  in  the  Saviour's  presence  :  — 

Thus  our  Father  answers  prayer. 
When  we  cannot  read  His  purpose, 

As  He  lays  our  hopes  in  dust. 
Let  us  say,  "  It  is  our  Father : 

Where  we  see  not  we  can  trust !  " 

Patience,  friends  !  we  see  but  dimly  — 

Oh,  how  dimly  here  below ! 
What  He  doeth,  now  we  know  not, 

But  hereafter  we  shall  know. 
Bowing  in  His  glorious  presence, 

Knowing  e'en  as  ye  are  known  ; 
You  with  thankful  hearts  shall  praise  Him, 

Who  so  early  claimed  his  own. 


WASTED  HOURS. 

THE  hours  which  we  have  wasted,  what  a  throng 
Of  witnesses  around  the  Eternal  Throne 
Await  our  coming !     Evidence  so  strong 
Of  our  delinquency,  they  might  alone 
Write  out  our  condemnation,  did  not  Love 
And  Mercy  plead  the  culprit's  cause  above. 

The  wasted  hours,  how  noiselessly  they  flow ! 

Scarce  do  we  note  them,  but  their  voice  is  loud 
In  that  far  unseen  land  to  which  they  go ; 

And  there  they  wait,  a  stern  unwavering  crowd, 
To  testify  against  us,  while  the  stain 
Of  our  misdeeds  doth  fresh  on  each  remain. 

* 
The  wasted  hours !  these  are  the  ghosts  which  scare 

In  night's  dim  season  the  unsettled  brain 
With  dreams  of  spectral  forms,  which  seem  to  wear 

The  livery  of  those  who  long  have  lain 
Within  the  mouldy  chambers  of  the  dead, 
And  fill  the  trembling  soul  with  awe  and  dread. 

140 


TO  ONE  WHO  IS  'HALTING  BETWEEN 
TWO  OPINIONS.' 

OH,  cast  not  thou  thy  faith  away  ! 
That  faith  which  is  the  '  lamp  of  life,' 
Else  lost  in  darkness  thou  shalt  stray 

Through  scenes  with  many  dangers  rife, 
Like  one  who,  on  a  starless  night, 
Gropes  on  his  way,  rejecting  light. 

Oh,  never  cast  away  thy  faith  ! 

The  soldier  on  the  battle-field, 
Who,  madly,  in  the  face  of  death, 

Throws  off  his  armor,  sword,  and  shield, 
Is  not  so  rash  as  he  who  flings 
Contempt  and  scorn  on  holy  things. 

And  what  has  Infidelity 

To  offer  for  the  trust  it  takes  ? 
A  hope,  whereon  who  leans  shall  be 

Deceived,  betrayed,  —  a  staff  which  breaks 
In  that  dread  hour,  when  o'er  the  soul 
Death's  terrors  like  an  ocean  roll. 

141 


142    SONGS  OF  KM;  i.  Y  AM>  LATER  YKARS. 

Oh  !  trust  it  not ;  but  cast  away 

All  hope,  all  trust,  save  that  which  clings 
To  Christ,  the  '  true  and  living  way ; '  — 

That  trust  which  peace  and  comfort  brings, 
And  leads  the  wearied  soul  to  rest 
Upon  the  loving  Saviour's  breast. 

How  couldst  thou  scorn  the  holy  trust 
In  which  thy  mother  lived  and  died  ? 

Her  form  is  sleeping  in  the  dust, 

Her  voice  no  more  may  warn  or  guide; 

But,  as  to  shield  thy  life  from  ill, 

Her  memory  lingers  with  thee  still. 

The  memory  of  her  tender  care, 
Her  earnest  love,  abides  with  thee, 

Her  voice,  as  in  the  tones  of  prayer, 
Breathes  in  the  ear  of  memory. 

Oh  !  turn  not  from  that  voice  away, 

But  as  she  taught  thee,  kneel  and  pray. 

Yes,  pray !  and  from  thy  darkened  soul 
The  midnight  gloom  shall  pass  away, 

The  mist  of  doubt  shall  backward  roll, 
And  in  the  light  of  heavenly  day 

Thy  heart's  rejoicing  cry  shall  be : 

"  I  once  was  blind,  but  now  I  see." 


'HE  GIVETH  HIS  BELOVED  SLEEP.' 

[Psalm  cxxvii.  2.] 

HE  giveth  his  beloved  sleep : 
Oh,  wherefore  put  the  gift  away  ? 
Why  wake  to  study,  toil,  or  weep, 

When  He  has  closed  the  busy  day ; 
And  from  our  eyes  shut  out  the  light 
With  the  dim  curtains  of  the  night? 

He  giveth  sleep  !    Oh,  let  us  take 

The  gift  with  thankful  hearts,  and  be 

Refreshed  and  strengthened  ;  wherefore  wake, 
Toil-worn  and  care-consumed,  when  He, 

Who  never  slumbers,  wakes,  to  keep 

Watch  over  his  beloved's  sleep  ? 

He  giveth  his  beloved  sleep, 

When  weary  eyelids  softly  close 
O'er  eyes  which  nevermore  shall  weep 

For  earthly  cares,  or  earthly  woes  ; 
While  on  the  soul's  enraptured  sight 

Dawns  the  eternal  morning  light! 

148 


THOUGHTS. 

OH,  how  little  we  truly  know 
Of  friends  and  neighbors ;  they  come  and  go, 
Daily  and  hourly  we  meet  and  part, 
But  there  is  a  veil  on  every  heart ; 
We  cannot  see,  and  we  do  not  know 
The  joys  or  sorrows  which  lie  below. 

Many  a  struggle  these  hearts  have  known  — 
Struggles  witnessed  by  God  alone ; 
Many  a  sorrow  has  lived  and  died, 
Carefully  screened  from  the  world  outside  — 
Screened  from  even  a  brother's  eyes, 
Lest,  while  he  pitied,  he  might  despise ; 
Sorrows  which  died  in  a  blessed  calm, 
When  the  Healer  poured  in  oil  and  balm. 

Thus  do  we  hide  both  joy  and  grief, 
Hiding  too  often  the  sweet  belief, 
Which  makcth  our  lot  less  hard  to  bear, 
And  keepeth  our  soul*  from  dark  despair; 

144 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  A\D  LATER  YEARS.      145 

Fearing  to  speak  of  our  own  sweet  trust, 
Lest  our  brother's  heart  be  dim  with  dust. 

There  is  a  man  with  whitened  hair 

"Whom  oft  we  see  in  the  house  of  prayer ; 

It  needeth  no  seer  to  tell  that  he 

Is  wearing  a  sorrow  silently, 

With  one  brave  boy  on  the  field  of  strife, 

And  another  wasting  his  bright  young  life. 

Turning  aside  from  the  way  of  truth,  — 
But  which  of  us  speaks  to  the  erring  youth, 
Patiently  striving  day  by  day, 
To  win  back  one  who  has  gone  astray  ? 
Which  of  us  breathes  in  the  old  man's  ear 
A  word  of  sympathy,  hope  and  cheer  ? 

Oh,  there  are  souls  in  our  midst  to-day, 
For  which  we  have  failed  to  watch  and  pray : 
Souls,  whom  we  well  may  dread  to  meet, 
When  we  stand  before  God's  judgment-seat ; 
Souls,  who  might  say,  "  You  saw  us  go 
In  the  downward  path  to  death  and  woe,  — 
Saw  us  wasting  God's  holy  day 
As  gravely  you  walked  on  your  churchward  way  ; 
But  none  of  you  said,  as  a  Christian  should, 
'  Come  with  us,  brother !  we  '11  do  you  gooti.' " 
Ah,  'tis  a  fearfully  solemn  thought, 
(When  will  we  ponder  it  as  we  ought?) 
13  K 


146     SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

That  not  to  ourselves  we  live  or  die, 
That  every  day,  as  it  glideth  by, 
Leaveth  our  impress  for  good  or  ill, 
On  hearts  which  we  either  cheer  or  chill. 
Could  we  but  know  what  depths  are  stirr'd 
By  a  careless  look,  or  a  thoughtless  word, 
How  would  we  watch  these  little  things, 
Which  enter  the  heart  like  venomed  stings ! 
How  would  we  pray  for  grace  and  light, 
To  think,  to  feel,  and  to  act  aright ! 


'  SHE  IS  NOT  DEAD,  BUT  SLEEPETH.' 

"VTOT  dead  !  oh,  say  not  she  is  dead, 

_Li      That  word  hath  such  a  mournful  sound  ; 

Her  radiant  soul  hath  only  spread 

Its  wings,  in  search  of  holier  ground, 
And  left  to  cold  and  silent  sleep 
The  faded  shrine  o'er  which  we  weep. 

She  is  not  dead :  it  is  not  death, 

When  heaven-bound  spirits  leave  their  clay, 
As  yields  the  rose  its  fragrant  breath, 

When  evening  zephyrs  round  it  play ; 
Or  lingering  starlight  dies  away, 
Amid  the  rosy  flush  of  day. 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.      147 

She  is  not  dead  ;  we  have  consigned 
To  earth's  cold  breast  a  lovely  form, 

That  for  a  little  season  shrined 
A  spirit  joyous,  frank,  and  warm  : 

A  spirit  which  has  gone  above 

To  dwell  with  Him  whose  name  is  Love. 

We  know  she  is  not  dead ;  but  still 

Upon  our  hearts  a  shadow  lies  ; 
We  miss  (and,  oh !  we  ever  will) 

The  sunshine  of  her  lips  and  eyes, 
The  loving  smile  which  gave  her  face 
Its  eloquent  and  winning  grace ! 

And  yet  how  selfish  is  the  love 

That  would  have  held  her  lingering  here ! 
A  stricken  flower,  a  wearied  dove, 

Too  fragile  for  our  stormy  sphere,  — 
When  that  which  we  call  death,  has  brought 
The  peace  and  rest  our  dear  one  sought ; 
To  the  wan  flower  eternal  spring, 
Strength  to  the  weak  bird's  drooping  wing. 


'AS  THY  DAY,  SO  SHALL  THY  STRENGTH 
BE.' 

AS  thy  day,  thy  strength  shall  be ! ' 
Fearful  trembler,  doubt  it  not ; 
God,  who  stoops  to  care  for  thee, 

Never  yet  his  word  forgot. 
He  hath  promised  thee  and  me, 
'  As  thy  day,  thy  strength  shall  be.' 

Clouds  are  darkening  o'er  the  sky, 
Angry  waters  round  thee  foam, 

Heavenward  lift  thy  drooping  eye, 
Struggle  on  toward  thy  home  ; 

Shrink  not  from  the  swelling  sea, 

'  As  thy  day,  thy  strength  shall  be.' 

Promise  of  a  faithful  God, 

Like  a  tower  of  strength  art  thou  ; 

148 


SOXGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.     149 

When  beneath  the  afflicting  rod, 

Weak  and  worn  with  pain  we  bow, 
To  this  word  we  gladly  flee, 
'  As  thy  day,  thy  strength  shall  be.' 


MY  SOLDIER  LOVE.* 


OH  !  where  art  thou,  ray  soldier  love  ? 
The  rain  is  dripping  heavily, 
The  evening  shades  are  closing  in, 

The  children  gather  round  my  knee, 
And  merrily  their  voices  ring, 
But  I  am  lonely,  missing  thee  ! 

ii. 

Oh  !  where  art  thou,  my  soldier  love  ? 

The  little  ones  are  gone  to  rest, 
All  but  the  youngest,  darling  dove, 

Who  slumbers  lightly  on  my  breast. 
If  thou  wert  here,  thy  good-night  kiss 

Would  on  her  cheek  be  softly  pressed. 

*  The  first  three  stanzas  were  written  in  May,  1865 ;  the 
concluding  one,  in  September,  of  the  same  year. 
13* 


150     SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

III. 
Oh !  where  art  thou,  my  soldier  love  ? 

The  pale  moon  climbs  the  midnight  sky, 
Upon  the  woody  hill  above 

Our  lowly  home,  the  cool  winds  sigh, 
They  win  an  answering  sigh  from  me, 
I  am  so  lonely,  missing  thee ! 

rv. 

My  soldier  love!  my  soldier  love! 

I  need  no  longer  question  now,  — 
I  've  seen  the  damp  earth  heaped  above 

Thy  pulseless  breast,  thy  faded  brow, 
And  henceforth  my  sad  heart  must  be 
Forever  lonely,  missing  thee ! 


THE  HEART'S  QUESTION. 

SHALL  I  know  thee  again  in  the  happy  land, 
Thou  who  hast  passed  to  that  brighter  sphere  ? 
Wilt  thou  meet  me  there  with  the  clasping  hand, 

And  the  loving  smile  which  was  thine  while  here; 
Or  is  the  hope  of  my  spirit  vain, 
That,  knowing  and  known,  we  shall  meet  again? 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.     151 

Shall  I  know  thee  again  ?  or  will  Heaven's  light 
Have  rendered  thy  beauty  too  purely  bright, 
For  one  who  knew  thee  on  earth  to  trace 
In  the  dazzling  lines  of  thy  seraph  face, 
The  beauty  which  mortals  said  was  thine, 
When  thy  soul  was  lodged  in  its  earthly  shrine  ? 

Shall  I  know  thy  voice  in  the  solemn  song, 
That  floats  from  the  lips  of  the  seraph  throng? 
Wilt  thou  remember  the  gentle  name 
We  called  thee  by :  is  it  still  the  same  ? 
Or  bearest  thou  one  to  the  angels  known, 
Which  they  can  utter,  and  they  alone  ? 

Vain  and  light  are  these  words  of  mine, 
If  thou  in  beauty  immortal  shine ; 
Not  through  the  eye  of  mortality, 
Dazzled  and  dim,  shall  I  look  on  thee ; 
Not  as  a  mortal  would  trembling  gaze 
On  a  being  enveloped  in  glory's  blaze. 

The  love  that  hath  made  my  heart  an  urn, 

Filled  with  sweet  thoughts  of  thee,  shall  know 

(Though  cloudless  glory  around  thee  burn) 
A  being  so  dear  when  we  dwelt  below. 

And  thou  wilt  meet  me  with  joy  and  love, 

And  welcome  me  to  thy  home  above ! 


.   ELEGIAC  LINES. 

should  have  laid  thee  iu  some  shady  dell, 
JL  Where  the  green  leaves  might  whisper  overhead, 
And  the  blue  violets  thou  didst  love  so  well, 

And  pale  anemone,  might  bloom,  and  spread 
Their  blossoms  o'er  thee, —  where  no  foot  might  tread 

But  that  of  the  true-hearted,  —  where  no  eye 
Might  gaze,  which  had  not  sorrowfully  shed 

Sad  tears  for  one  so  early  called  to  die ! 
When  morning  sunshine  gladdens  earth  and  sky, 

It  would  have  been  so  sweet  to  linger  there, 
While  every  blossom  breathed  a  fragrant  sigh, 

And  dreamy  music  filled  the  scented  air. 
I  could  have  fancied  that  thy  spirit  came, 

And  stooped  to  hold  communion  there  with  mine, 
That,  while  I  pressed  the  rose's  lip  of  flame, 

Or  the  pale-blossomed  odorous  eglantine, 
Thy  breath  was  on  them.     Every  flower  a  shrine 

Of  pure  and  tender  memories  should  be;  — 

l-VJ 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.      153 

But  vain  these  fancies !  no  such  grave  is  thine; 

There  bends  above  thee  no  green  rustling  tree, 
Or  odorous  shrub  ;  above  thee  only  falls 
The  cold  gray  shadow  of  the  churchyard  walls. 


AFTER  AWHILE. 

i 

(Written  in  April,  1863.) 

A  FTER  awhile  there  will  be  green  leaves  spreading 
-Cl  A  shady  covering  on  boughs  now  bare  ; 
After  awhile,  sweet  blossoms  will  be  shedding 
Their  balmy  odors  on  the  summer  air. 
After  awhile,  where  the  young  grass  is  springing, 
Bright  buttercups  and  violets  will  be  found, 
And  sweet  arbutus,  to  the  brown  earth  clinging, 
Will  send  up  fragrant  breathings  from  the  ground. 

After  awhile,  from  orchards  blossom-laden 
The  oriole  will  pour  his  joyous  song  ; 
And  in  her  woody  haunt,  like  love-lorn  maiden, 
The  dove  will  be  complaining  all  day  long. 
After  awhile,  the  earth  will  smile  as  gladly 
As  e'er  it  smiled,  beneath  the  sky  of  May ; 
But  'midst  the  joy  of  nature,  oh !  how  sadly 
Fond  hearts  will  pine  for  loved  ones  passed  away ! 


154     SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS 

After  awhile,  where  rang  the  sound  of  battle 
Along  the  river-side,  from  hill  to  hill, 
All  will  be  hushed,  —  no  musket's  deadly  rattle, 
No  cannon's  roar,  —  'twill  all  be  calm  and  still. 
The  earth  will  hide,  the  tender  grass  will  cover 
The  forms,  whose  place  at  home  will  henceforth  be 
So  desolate :  the  maid  will  mourn  her  lover, 
The  mother,  him  she  dandled  on  her  knee. 

The  widow's  heart  will  evermore  be  yearning 

To  meet  the  smile  that  gladdens  her  no  more ; 

The  child,  still  hoping  for  its  sire's  returning, 

Will  often  linger,  watching,  by  the  door — 

But  watch  in  vain.     Ah,  me !  my  heart  is  aching, 

And  bitter  tears  come  gushing  to  my  eyes ; 

Such  mournful  thoughts  the  opening  spring  awakens, 

There  is  a  shadow  on  the  April  skies  ; 

Clouds  dim  the  sunshine,  undertones  of  sadness 

Are  heard  in  every  song  of  victory. 

We  raise  the  voice  of  thankfulness  and  gladness 

For  every  triumph  gained  by  land  or  sea ; 

Praise  to  our  God,  whose  hand  is  overturning 

Their  wicked  plans  who  have  his  laws  defied  ! 

But  with  each  paean  blends  the  sigh  of  mourning 

For  men  who  bravely  fought  and  nobly  died. 

God  help  us  in  this  time  of  heavy  trial ! 
Upon  our  lips  is  pressed  a  bitter  cup ; 


SOA'GS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.     155 

We  tread  the  thorny  path  of  self-denial  — 
But  dare  we  grudge  to  yield  our  treasures  up  ? 
Nay ;  for  the  cause  is  His,  by.  whose  appointment 
Kings  rule,  and  princes  justice  do  decree. 
Father!  this  thought  is  like  a  healing  ointment 
To  wounded  hearts  —  we  give  them  up  to  Thee ; 
Thine  are  they  all  —  sons,  brothers,  and  possessions, 
We  give  them  up  in  humble  trust  that  Thou 
Wilt  give  our  land  a  harvest-time  of  blessing, 
From  precious  seed,  that 's  sown  with  weeping  now. 


HIDDEN  AWAY. 

TTIDDEN  away !  — hidden  away  ! 

J-J-  Under  the  snow-wreaths  under  the  clay 

Lieth  a  treasure  pure  and  fair  :  — 

Many  another  is  buried  there  ; 

Many  a  heart  like  mine  is  sad, 

Missing  its  treasure,  the  best  it  had : 

But  when  the  wild  winds  moan  and  rave, 

Whirling  the  snow  over  many  a  grave, 

Only  by  one  my  sad  thoughts  stay,  — 

One  where  the  snow  hides  the  fresh-turned  clay, 

One  than  all  others  more  dark  and  cold  — 

For  it  wraps  my  own  in  its  narrow  fold. 


156      SOXGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

Never  a  flower  has  lifted  there 

Its  dewy  lips  to  the  balmy  air ; 

Never  a  grass-blade  struggled  through 

The  crushing  clods  to  the  light  and  dew  ; 

But  all  is  dreary,  dark,  and  chill, 

As  the  heart,  love's  tones  have  ceased  to  thrill ; 

For  it  is  only  a  little  while 

Since  I  was  gladdened  by  voice  and  smile,  — 

Voice  that  was  music,  smile  that  was  light, 

Both  are  lost  in  the  grave's  dim  night. 

Fair  was  the  form  that  is  folded  away 

Under  the  snow-wreaths,  under  the  clay  : 

But  it  was  only  the  mortal  shrine 

Of  the  heaven-bom  spirit  whose  love  was  mine. 

Spirit,  made  perfect  in  glory  now, 

There  falls  to-day  on  my  care-worn  brow 

A  gleam  from  the  light  which  circles  thine, 

I  may  not  murmur,  I  may  not  pine. 

Lonely  as  I  must  henceforth  be, 

Treading  the  life-path,  missing  thee, 

I  may  not  murmur;  for  thou  art  blest 

In  the  presence  of  Him  who  loves  thee  best. 


JENNIE. 
TTTE  bade  her  welcome  as  a  bride, 

V  V     When  April  skies  were  warm  and  bright ; 
And  in  the  tender  April-tide 
She  faded  from  our  sight. 
And  in  our  bosom  sadly  stays 
The  thought  of  those  two  April  days. 

Blow  soft,  ye  south -winds,  where  she  lies, 
Bear  thither  on  your  fragrant  wing 
The  treasures  of  the  April  skies  ; 
And  when  June  roses  fling 
Their  precious  odors  on  the  air, 
Gather  and  shed  them  softly  there  — 

There,  where  the  fair  young  mother  rests, 

The  mother  and  her  infants  three  ; 

Who  never  pressed  their  mother's  breast, 

Or  slumbered  on  her  knee. 

Sweet  babes  !  from  life's  untasted  cup, 

They  turned  away,  and  soaring  up 

To  Heaven's  bright  gates,  were  welcomed  in, 

Unscathed  by  care,  unsoiled  by  sin. 

14  157 


A  TRIBUTE 

To  THE  MEMORY  OF  WILLIAM  CRAWFORD,  100th  REGT.,  P.  V. 

SOFTLY  we  speak  of  our  sorrow  ; 
Others  have  suffered  as  well, 
Many  a  sou  and  brother 

That  day  in  the  battle  fell ;  — 
Many  a  sister  is  mourning, 

Many  a  lone  mother  weeps  ; 
The  more  that  their  eyes  may  never 
See  where  the  loved  one  sleeps. 

Thousands  as  noble  have  fallen  ; 

Thousands,  —  but  he  was  our  own ! 
Nor  does  it  soften  our  anguish 

To  know  that  he  fell  not  alone. 
We  are  acquainted  with  sorrow, 

We  have  been  smitten  before, 
Have  kissed  the  pale  brow  of  a  brother, 

Whose  love  may  not  gladden  its  more ; 

158 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.      159 

But  now  is  this  comfort  denied  us, 

To  look  on  the  face  of  our  dead, 
Shrouded  and  coffined  to  lay  him 

Away  in  his  last  quiet  bed, 

Oh,  ill-fated  field  of  Manassas ! 

Twice  dyed  in  the  blood  of  the  brave  ; 
Thither  our  sad  hearts  are  turning, 

For  there  found  our  brother  a  grave. 
We  know  not  the  spot  where  they  laid  him, 

Unmarked  is  the  place  of  his  rest, 
And  rude  feet  will  carelessly  trample 

The  sods  that  lie  over  his  breast. 

But  far  above  earth  and  its  trials, 

We  know  that  his  spirit  has  flown, 
And  we  think  of  him  bending  in  rapture, 

With  angels  and  saints  round  the  Throne. 
In  life  he  was  earnest  and  faithful 

Alike  to  his  country  and  God, 
And  we  know  that  it  ended  in  glory, 

The  path  he  so  manfully  trod  : 
And  this  is  a  balm  for  our  sorrow, 

We  mourn,  but  still  hopefully  pray, 
That,  like  him,  we  all  may  be  ready 

Whenever  death  calls  us  away. 


STOLEN  TREASURES. 

PASSING,  passing  hour  by  hour, 
Now  in  sunshine,  now  in  shower  ; 
Slowly,  softly,  day  by  day, 
Stealeth  Time  our  lives  away. 
Time!  when  I  was  blithe  and  young, 
Ere  my  heart  by  grief  was  wrung, 
I  had  treasures  fair  and  bright, 
Thou  hast  borne  them  out  of  sight ; 
I  will  tell  thee  what  they  were, 
Wilt  thou  tell  me  where  they  are? 

I  had  curls  of  glossy  brown 
O'er  my  shoulders  floating  down  ; 
There  are  threads  of  silver  now 
In  the  locks  which  shade  my  brow ; 
Then  my  steps  were  light  and  free, 
Now  I  walk  so  wearily ; 

160 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.      161 

Then  my  voice  was  clear  and  strong, 
Kinging  out  in  many  a  song ; 
Now  its  tones  are  low  and  sad, 
Not  the  tones  which  once  it  had. 

Ah!  if  only  these  were  all 
Thou  hadst  borne  beyond  recall ! 
Three  young  brothers,  strong  and  fair, 
Bright-eyed  boys  with  shining  hair, 
Shared  with  me  life's  early  mirth, 
Evenings  by  the  household  hearth  ; 
Summer  days,  when  glad  and  free, 
Through  the  woodlands  rambled  we  ; 
Oh,  what  treasures  found  we  there ! 
Ripe  wild  fruits  and  blossoms  fair ; 
And  our  feet  would  lingering  stray 
Where  the  cool  green  mosses  lay. 

Time  has  sped,  and  death  has  wrought,  — 
Sad  the  changes  they  have  brought, 
For  the  youngest  of  our  band 
Fell  beneath  the  spoiler's  hand, 
And  the  cold  insatiate  tomb 
Hides  his  manhood's  early  bloom. 

Then  a  mother's  love  was  mine, 
Clasping  round  me  like  a  vine, 
Striving  with  her  earnest  prayers 
Me  to  shield  from  grief  and  cares ; 
14*  L 


162     SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

Now  my  mother  lies  at  rest, 
With  the  sod  above  her  breast, 
And  a  mother's  smile  shall  be, 
Never  more  awaked  for  me. 

Never  more?     Ah,  spoiler,  nay  ! 
Thou  canst  bear  our  youth  away, 
Rob  our  cheeks  of  healthy  bloom, 
Lay  our  idols  in  the  tomb ; 
But  thou  canst  not  keep  them  there, 
Here  is  balm  for  every  care  : 
Death  may  smite,  and  time  may  fly, 
Time  shall  cease,  and  death  shall  die  ; 
But  the  treasures  which  they  bore 
To  the  unseen,  far-off  shore, 
Through  our  loving  Saviour's  care 
Shall  be  ours  forever  there. 


MARY  ANNE. 

is  a  name  of  gentle  sound, 
_L      Whose  echoes  warble  through  my  heart, 
And  pleasant  memories  abound, 

In  which  that  precious  name  has  part,  — 
That  name  is  thine,  my  sister,  friend, 

If  any  dearer  names  there  be, 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.      163 

I  all  in  one  would  fondly  blend, 

And  by  that  name  would  think  of  thee. 
Sweet  sister !  since  my  early  years, 

Such  love  for  thee  hath  filled  my  soul, 
I  've  parted  from  thee  but  with  tears, 

And  grief  that  mocked  at  self-control. 
But  when  we  meet,  oh,  that  is  bliss  — 

My  heart  forgets  that  it  is  sad  ; 
A  sister's  loving  smile  and  kiss 

Make  even  the  care-worn  spirit  glad. 


THOUGHTS. 

are  beautiful  thoughts  which  come  and  go 
JL    Like  the  dawn  of  day,  like  the  sunset  glow  ; 
They  haunt  our  hearts,  but  we  seek  in  vain 
To  breathe  them  in  words  ;  the  loftiest  strain 
The  poet  sings,  is  nought  to  him 
But  a  feeble  echo,  a  shadow  dim 
Of  the  music  and  light  which  warm  his  soul  — 
Oh !  if  he  could  but  breathe  the  whole ! 
His  song  is  thrilling  in  many  a  breast, 
But  he  thinks  his  voiceless  thoughts  the  best. 

Thoughts  of  charity,  thoughts  of  love, 
Soft  as  the  wing  of  the  brooding  dove, 


164     SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

Oh  !  how  softly  they  flutter  in, 
Covering  gently  a  brother's  sin  — 
Quietly  stirring  up  thoughts  of  prayer, 
Planning  how  we  may  help  to  bear 
The  burden  our  weary  brother  bears, 
How  we  may  lighten  his  many  cares  — 
How  we  may  lead  some  erring  youth 
Tenderly  into  the  way  of  truth ; 
But  ah  !  sweet  thoughts !  it  is  sad  to  know 
How  often  you  pass  like  the  evening  glow ; 
The  sky  grows  dark,  and  the  heart  grows  cold, 
We  go  on  our  way  as  they  went  of  old, 
Who,  passing  '  by  on  the  other  side, 
Some  in  coldness  and  some  in  pride, 
Offered  no  help  to  him  who  lay 
Wounded  and  faint  beside  the  way.' 

Sorrowful  thoughts  they  come  and  stay, 
Vexing  our  spirits  day  by  day  ; 
Casting  their  shadow  on  all  we  see, 
Filling  our  souls  with  perplexity ; 
Shutting  the  joyous  sunshine  out, 
Veiling  our  hearts  with  fear  and  doubt, 
Till  the  voice  which  calmed  the  stormy  sea, 
Speaks  to  our  souls,  and  the  shadows  flee. 

Glorious  thoughts  all  warm  and  bright, 
Gleams  sent  down  from  the  land  of  lig'ht, 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.     165 

How  do  they  cheer  our  earthly  way, 
Turning  our  darkness  into  day ! 
Thoughts  of  Him  whose  name  is  Love, 
Thoughts  of  heaven,  our  rest  above  ; 
Thoughts  of  loved  ones  dwelling  there, 
Thoughts  of  joys  we  soon  shall  share  — 
Glorious  thoughts,  serene  and  pure !  — • 
These  are  the  thoughts  which  shall  endure. 
Beautiful  thoughts  may  pass  away 
Like  morning  mist  on  a  summer  day  ; 
Sorrowful  thoughts  will  have  no  place 
Where  tears  are  wiped  from  every  face ; 
But  the  glory  begun  on  earth  shall  be 
Perfected  in  Eternity! 


EARTH'S  ANGELS. 

WE  meet  with  angels  now  and  then, 
Along  life's  dull  and  toilsome  way, 
Oh !  if  we  only  knew  it  when 
They  come,  that  we  might  bid  them  stay,  — 
Might  hold  them  with  a  firmer  hand, 
Might  breathe  the  words  we  dare  not  speak 
In  ears  which  might  not  understand  ; 
But  we  are  ignorant  and  weak, 
And  only  see,  when  looking  back, 
Where  the  good  angels  crossed  our  track. 


166      SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

Not  clothed  in  white,  with  shining  wings, 

They  burst  upon  our  wondering  gaze ; 

We  see  no  harp  with  golden  strings, 

We  listen  to  no  seraph  lays ; 

We  feel  the  clasp  of  friendly  hands, 

The  light  of  loving  eyes  we  meet, 

But  seldom  think  an  angel  stands 

Beside  us,  in  life's  dust  and  heat. 

The  hand  unclasped,  the  smile  withdrawn, 

We  see  it  all  when  they  are  gone.   / 


MEMENTOES. 

THE  thoughts  of  a  loving  heart 
Poured  in  a  gush  of  song, 
And  a  shining  curl  of  soft  brown  hair, 
Still  bright,  though  kept  so  long. 
Relics  of  by-gone  days, 
What  are  they  now  to  me  ? 
I  look  through  memory's  golden  haze, 

And  this  is  what  I  see : 

^ 

A  form  of  manly  grace, 

A  fair  unshadowed  brow,  — 

The  radiant  light  of  that  young  face 

Seems  beaming  on  me  now. 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.      167 

The  fair  brow  never  grew  old, 

Nor  the  bright  locks  changed  their  hue ; 

But  the  loving  heart  grew  still  and  cold, 

While  yet  its  years  were  few. 

The  angels  opened  the  gates  of  gold, 

And  the  radiant  soul  went  through  — 

Through  to  the  land  of  peace, 

Into  the  light  of  day, 

Where  the  cares  of  life  forever  cease, 

And  tears  are  wiped  away. 


DAY  AFTER  DAY. 

THE  sun  comes  up  in  the  morning, 
And  the  sun  goes  down  at  night ; 
The  stars  come  out  at  eventide, 

And  pale  in  the  morning  light. 
The  days  keep  coming  and  going, 

Just  as  they  did  of  old  — 
Just  as  they  will  in  coming  years, 
After  our  hearts  are  cold. 

Many  a  time  I  have  wondered, 

Thinking  how  it  would  be, 
The  long  bright  days,  and  the  quiet  nights, 

And  no  one  thinking  of  me,  — 


168      SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

No  one  watching  and  waiting, 
^N(5  one  breathing  my  name,  — 

The  days  still  coming  and  going, 
Ever  and  ever  the  same. 

I  know  I  shall  be  forgotten  : 

For  those  who  love  me  now 
Will  lie  as  low,  and  the  grass  will  grow 

Over  buried  breast  and  brow ; 
The  sun  will  come  up  in  the  morning, 

The  sun  will  go  down  at  night, 
We  shall  not  care  for  his  shining, 

We  shall  not  miss  his  light. 

Neither  the  light  nor  the  shadow 

Will  waken  us  from  our  sleep; 
But  the  Eye  that  never  slumbers 

Over  us  watch  will  keep. 
The  sun  will  come  up  in  the  morning, 

The  sun  will  go  down  at  night, 
The  stars  will  glitter  above  us, 

And  we  shall  not  see  their  light. 
The  thought  is  strange  and  solemn  — 

Strange,  though  it  is  not  new ; 
The  world  will  be  busy  as  ever, 

With  nothing  for  us  to  do. 

Ah,  well,  if  the  night  is  coming, 
Let  us  be  busy  to-day, 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.      169 

The  weakest  hand  among  us 

May  plant  a  seed  by  the  way  — 
A  seed  which  the  earth  will  nourish 

Till  it  comes  to  be  a  tree, 
In  whose  cool  shadow  men  will  rest, 

In  summers  yet  to  be. 
And  some  one,  rested  and  strengthened 

Under  its  shade,  may  say: 
"  Some  one  who  walked  here  years  ago, 

Has  planted  a  tree  by  the  way." 
And  so  he  may  be  encouraged 

To  do  some  deed  of  love, 
Something  to  help  his  fellow-man, 

And  honor  his  Father  above. 


SHADOWS. 

THERE  were  shadows  in  the  morning, 
When  the  grass  was  wet  with  dew, 
But  the  clouds  were  white  and  fleecy, 

And  the  sunshine  melted  through. 
So  they  scarcely  checked  my  singing, 

Hindered  not  my  childish  play; 
Fleecy  clouds  and  childish  sorrows 
Pass  so  rapidly  away. 

Shadows  veiled  the  noonday  brightness, 
Sudden  was  the  storm  and  wild, 
15 


170     SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

Shutting  out  the  blessed  sunshine 

From  earth's  stricken  mourning  child. 
Then  I  groped  among  the  shadows, 

Wrapping  all  my  thoughts  in  gloom, 
Blindly  groping  in  the  darkness, 

Ever  stumbling  at  the  tomb,  — 
At  the  tomb  where  lay  my  treasure, 

Snatched  so  suddenly  away. 
Oh,  how  thick  and  dark  the  shadows  ! 

Oh,  how  cold  and  bleak  the  day  ! 
Yet  through  all  the  clouds  a  sunbeam 

Came  to  light  my  darkened  way. 

Still  the  shadows  have  not  vanished ; 

Only  on  my  path  is  shed 
Light,  to  show  where  I  am  going ; 

Step  by  step  I  softly  tread, 
While  the  light  is  on  my  pathway, 

And  the  clouds  are  overhead. 
What  if  yet  the  shadows  deepen, 

As  the  evening  time  draws  near ; 
Just  beyond  earth's  latest  sunset 

There  are  skies  forever  clear. 
In  their  light  shall  be  unfolded 

All  that  seems  mysterious  here. 


AN  APRIL  SONG. 

rPHE  grass  is  springing  everywhere, 
-L      The  trees  are  budding  all  the  same, 
As  in  the  Aprils  bright  and  fair, 

Before  my  sorrow  came. 
The  swallow  builds  beneath  the  eaves, 

Upon  the  fence  the  bluebird  sings, 
The  dove  within  the  woodland  grieves, 

As  in  the  by-gone  springs. 

The  sounds  of  labor  and  of  play 

Are  mingling  on  the  quiet  air ; 
The  brook  goes  singing  on  its  way, 

Through  meadows  green  and  fair ; 
Along  its  edges  violets  grow, 

And  children  pluck  them,  as  of  old  • 
The  willow-branches  are  aglow 

With  blended  green  and  gold. 

171 


172      SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

Whatever  beauty  April  brought 

In  other  years,  she^ffers  now,  — 
And  shall  I  yield  to  gloomy  thought, 

And  wear  a  saddened  brow  ? 
Nay  !  I  am  glad  that  it  is  so, 

That  human  sorrow  cannot  mar 
Earth's  beauty,  shade  the  sun-light's  glow, 

Or  dim  a  single  star. 

A  vacant  seat  is  at  my  hearth, 

A  smitten  form  is  by  my  side,  — 
Alas,  for  boyhood's  shadowed  mirth, 

A  mother's  blighted  pride ! 
And  yet  I  know  that  it  is  well, 

That  love  supreme  is  over  all, 
Alike  when  April's  leaf-buds  swell, 

And  when  the  snow-flakes  fall. 
So,  through  these  quiet  peaceful  days, 

My  grief-worn  heart  essays  to  rest, 
Committing  all  my  times  and  ways 

To  Him  who  knoweth  best. 


MY  WORK. 

SEND  me,  and  I  will  go, 
To  bear  thy  message  into  heathen  lauds," 
Thus  cried  my  heart.     The  Master  answered,  "  No, 
v  Not  such  the  work  which  waits  thy  willing  hands, 
Yet  there  is  work  which  all  thy  strength  demands." 

My  fingers  grasped  the  pen. 

"  Then  will  I  write,  and  tell  the  world  of  Thee." 

He  let  me  try,  too  gentle  to  condemn 
My  hasty  zeal,  but  led  me  soon  to  see 
That  this  was  not  the  work  assigned  to  me. 

I  dropped  the  pen  and  sighed : 

"What  is  it,  Lord?    Whatwouldst  thou  have  me 
do?" 

He  bade  me  look,  and  lo  !  on  every  side 
Some  care,  some  duty  rose  to  meet  my  view, 
And  yet  among  them  all  was  nothing  new ; 

But  duties  which  my  heart 

Had  often  shrank  from,  craving  something  higher. 
"Herein,"  He  said,  "do  faithfully  thy  part, 

And  thou  shalt  truly  have  thy  heart's  desire." 
15*  173 


174     SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

And  joyfully  I  said, 

"  Thy  will  be  done  ;  "  then  every  service  grew 

Holy  and  beautiful ;  and  when  the  shade 
Of  sorrow  settled  over  me,  I  knew 
That  patient  suffering  served  my  Master  too. 


TO  MY  BROTHER,  J.  P.  KNOX. 

MY  brother!  faithful,  kind,  and  true, 
Companion  of  my  infant  days, 
Accept  a  tribute  earlier  due,  — 

For  though  remembered  in  the  lays 
In  which  I  sang  the  days  of  yore, 

Thy  worth  and  earnest  truth  claim  more. 

Bound  to  my  heart  by  links  so  strong, 
That  time  and  distance  cannot  break, 

Thy  name  should  grace  as  warm  a  song 
As  this  frail  faltering  hand  can  wake ; 

But,  ah  !  since  last  we  parted,  few 

Have  been  my  songs,  and  mournful  too. 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.      175 

Sojourning  in  a  stranger  land, 

My  heart  goes  back  to  those  glad  hours, 

When,  blithely  wandering  hand  in  hand, 

We  chased  the  bees,  and  plucked  the  flowers  — 

Around  our  home,  that  Eden  spot, 
Which  we  have  never  once  forgot. 

And  from  that  spot  I  walk  with  thee 

On  through  the  lapse  of  changeful  years, 
When  thou  wast  ever  near  to  me, 

To  share  my  hopes,  and  joys,  and  fears  ; 
Or  when  the  ram  bier's  part  you  tried, 

And  left  a  while  your  sister's,  side, 
How  gladly  did  I  welcome  back, 

Whene'er  you  trod  the  '  homeward  track.' 

And  since  the  wanderer's  path  is  mine, 

And  far  from  thee  my  lot  is  cast, 
Thy  eyes  with  loving  radiance  shine 

Upon  me  from  the  distant  past, 
While  many  a  pleasant  thought  of  thee 

Comes  floating  over  memory's  sea. 

And  oft  beside  the  cheerful  hearth, 
When  twilight  shadows  fill  the  room, 

And  the  light  tones  of  infant  mirth 

Ring  gladly  through  the  gathering  gloom, 

Bright  visions  of  our  infancy 

Come,  like  old  friends,  to  sit  with  me ; 


176     SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

And  then  to  one  who  loves  to  hear 

The  simple  tales  I  love  to  tell, 
I  breathe  those  memories  warm  and  dear, 

Which  in  my  heart's  recesses  dwell, 
And  loving  thoughts  and  wishes  blend 
When  thou  art  named  our  Brother,  Friend ! 


s 


ROSALINE. 

OFT  lay  the  rosy  evening  light 


Upon  the  vine-clad  hills  of  Spaing 
And  every  steep  and  verdant  height 
Was  bright  with  its  impurpling  sfaTh,  — 
When  through  a  city's  crowded  streets 
A  lovely  stranger  passed  alone.  \ 
Way-worn  and  weary  were  her  feet;\ 
But,  all  unknowing  and  unknown  — 
From  square  to  square  she  passed  along, 
Chanting  a  wild  and  plaintive  song  — 
While  many  paused,\her  song  to  hear,\ 
But  more  to  scan  the  maiden's  gear, 
So  novel  was  her  garb.x  She  wore 
The  peasant  dress  of  Italy  ;\ 
But  on  her  ncck'and  arms  she  bore 
A  wealth  of  brilliant  jewelry,  x 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.     177 

Her  soft  unbraided  hair  was  rolled 
Around  a  comb  of  gems  and  gold, 
And  here  and  there  a  glossy  curl 
Burst  from  its  clasp  of  gold  and  pearl. 
She  had  a  strange,  sweet  gift;  she  sung: 
And  words  came  crowding  to  her  tongue, 
Like  ripples  on  a  streamlet's  bf'east, 
When  breezes  break  its  wonted  rest. 


THE   SONG.\ 

"  No  mother's  love  was  ever  mine ; 
Upon  my  birth  no  father  smiled ;  \ 
I  passed  through  childhood's  summer-time 
A  hopeless,  joyless,\friendless  child.X 
I  was  not  like  the  few  who  tried 
To  make  their  home  a  home  for  me  — 
They  told  me  that  my  mother  died 
Ere  she  her  helpless  babe  might  see  ; 
And  I  was  left  alone  on  earth 
Even  at  the  moment  of  my  birth. 
Would,  since  she  died,  they  had  not  learned 
The  name  that  made  my  life  unblest, 
I  might  have  borne  their  own,  nor  spurned 
Their  lowly  life  ,vbut  in  my  breast 
They  woke  high  thoughts  and  passions  strong, 
Resistless  as  the  power  of  song. 
They  said  she  was  a  lady  fair, 
If 


178     SOXGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER   YKARS. 

Born  of  a  brave  and  noble  line ; 
They  kept  the  gems  she  used  to  wear, 
For  me;  the  name  she  bore  is  mine^v 
And  I  have  sought  her  native  shore, 
And  been  a  wanderer  in  the  land  ;- 
I  've  breathed  that  dear  name  o'er  and  o'er, 
But  vainly,  for  alone  I  stand, 
Arranger  in  the  land  which  gave 
Her  birthj  who  found  a  foreign  grave." 

There  stepped  a  man  of  lordly  mum 

And  graceful  bearing  from  the  crowd, 

As,  doing  homage  to  a  queen, 

Before  that  lovely  girl  he  bowed, 

And  asked  that  precious  name  to  know.\ 

Her  voice  was  soft  and  very  low 

As  trembling,  hope  and  fear  between  : 

"She  was  the  Lady  Rosaline 

De  Montalina."     Sudden  light 

Flashed  o'er  the  visage  of  the  knight. 

"  The  gems,"  he  said  ;  "  now  if  there  be 

A  diamond  ring."     He  took  her  hand  : 

Upon  it  glittered  diamonds  three, 

Linked  by  a  single  golden  baud. 

"  It  is  the  ring !  the  same !  "  he  cried, 

"  I  gave  to  her  my  lovely  bride. 

And  thou,xstv3fct  Rosaline^hou  art 

The  daughter  of  my  lonely  heart.S^ 


SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS.     179 

The  child  whom  I  had  never  -stfSti, 
Nor  hoped  to  seey  my  Rosaline  l1^ 

Then  told  the  knight  a  fearful  tale 
Of  storm  and  shipwreck,  —  of  a  night 
When  brave  men's  cheeks  were  strangely  pale, 
And  woman's  heart  was  faint  with  fright; 
A  night  when  life's  delicious  light 
Grew  in  an  instant  pale  and  dim  ,*^ 
When  from  his  grasp  and  from  his  sight, 
The  wild  waves  bore  his  lady  bright, 

While  wailed  the  storm  her  funeral  hymn. 
"  Since  that  dread  night,"  he  said,  "  I  've  been 
A  mourner  for  my  Rosaline. 
Thy  song  in  part  reveals  the  rest ; 
Yet  tell  me  more."     He  fondly  pressed 
His  daughter  to  his  thankful  breast, 
And  led  her  from  the  crowd ;  and  then 
Told  she  her  story  o'er  again  : 
How  those  who  nurtured  her  had  said, 
They  found  a  lady,  well-nigh  dead 
With  cold  and  fear,  upon  the  beach, 
Washed  almost  past  the  billows'  reach. 
They  bore  her  to  their  cot,  and  there 
She  lived  to  bless  them  for  their  care 
And  tell  her  name  and  rank.     She  died, 
And  in  her  dying  hour  she  sighed  : 
"  Good  people,  ye  are  kind  to  me, 
Kind  in  this  hour  of  agony; 


180      SONGS  OF  EARLY  AND  LATER  YEARS. 

Friends  to  the  new-born  orphan  be, 
And  call  her  Rosaline."     They  kept 
Her  wishes  sacred.     "  I  have  wept," 
She  said,  "  to  think  that  I  could  prove 
Ungrateful  for  their  tender  love ; 
But,  like  a  bird  upon  the  wing, 
My  heart  hath  been  a  restless  thing ; 
It  ever  longed  for  home,  for  Spain,  — 
I  proudly  called  that  land  my  own, — 
And  with  a  wild  fond  hope  I  came, 
A  stranger,  fearless,  though  alone, 
And  hope  to  joy  has  changed  at  last,  — 
Fear,  danger,  suffering,  all  are  past." 


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